


We Could Be Immortal

by the_scribbler666



Category: The Song of Achilles
Genre: Alternate Universe- Crimean War, Angst, Growing Up Together, Homophobia, I love them so much and I'm sorry for putting them through this horror, M/M, Smut, Star Gazing, Voilence, battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5771554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_scribbler666/pseuds/the_scribbler666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of us don't stand alone. Our lives are forever entangled with another's. Patroclus' life was. He would follow Achilles anywhere. From childhood to war he would never leave Achilles side.</p><p>Or</p><p>An AU where Patroclus and Achilles are childhood friends/lovers and they go off to fight in the Crimean War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Background:  
> In the 1850s, as the Ottoman Empire in the Middle East was weakening, Britain and Russia waged a war to gain the disputed land of Crimea so that they could gain access to the Black Sea. 
> 
> Note:  
> I did very little research on this time and military procedure. Just about none of this fic is authentic. Forgive me if I made a horrible mistake. Leave a comment and I will fix it. Also, the characters do diss Russia and the British military (or just war in general) I don't mean to offend anyone by doing that. Just because i put it in the fic it doesn't mean I believe it.

    Patroclus couldn't really remember a time before him. When he thought back to his life before, all he could see was darkness. It was like walking in circles, with no goal and no end. He was dead until he met Achilles. Achilles had breathed life into him, pulling him in from oblivion. Patroclus did, though, remember the first time that he met him. But how could he forget? It was the most defining moment in his life.

     It was cold, he remembered that clearly. And dirty. Patroclus had been sitting on the street with his knees drawn up to his chest, crammed in between two empty crates, staring off into a void. His thoughts weren't deep. They alternated between him thinking about how filthy the British alleyway he was in was, and about the gnawing in his stomach as it twisted, screaming out for food. When was the last time he ate? Then a ball came flying out from nowhere, splashing in a puddle next to him, jolting Patroclus back to reality. He shivered as the dirty water seeped into his tattered clothes. 

   "Sorry," a voice called. Patroclus looked around until he spotted a boy about eleven- his age- come running up the street. "Sorry," the boy said again once he had reached Patroclus. 

   "It's alright," Patroclus told him, wrapping his arms around his knees to pull them in closer. 

   "No it's not, I got you all wet. I didn't mean too, though. I was just kicking the ball around with my friends," the boy informed. "Say, do you wanna come play with us?" Patroclus looked down at his feet and shook his head. "Come on."

     Patroclus turned his eyes upward to get a good look at the boy. He had a messy crown of brown curls on his head which were the same color of his large, wide eyes. He had scrapes on his knees and arms, tokens he had received from childish romping around. But he also was possessed by a friendly, urgent expression which made Patroclus reluctantly decide to go with him. 

    "Great!" the boy said once Patroclus had agreed. Patroclus followed the boy, figuring it would be painless to go. And besides it didn't look like the boy would have left Patroclus  alone until he agreed to tag along. "I'm Damaneus, by the way, but everyone calls me Damon," the boy informed.

   "Patroclus," Patroclus muttered. 

   The boy led him down the alley out into the wide street where they found another boy waiting for them.

   "Did you find my ball, Damon?" the boy asked, lifting an eyebrow.

   "Yeah, I got it, Antilochus," Damon answered tossing the ball to his friend.

   "Good," the other boy said as he caught the ball, "because you've kicked all of my other balls into oblivion and my father said he isn't going to buy any new ones after this."

   "I do not," Damon protested. "I always find them."

   "You mean you always lose them," Antilochus shot back.

   "No, I don't."

   "Yes, you do."

   "Nuh uh!"

   "Will you two stop your squabbling," a third voice broke in. 

    Patroclus turned to see a third boy standing tall on top of a pile of crates. Patroclus didn't know how he did not notice him until now, but as soon as he saw him he was stricken. He seemed to be the epitome of youth both playful and pure. He had a spark in him, Patroclus could see it in the way he pumped out his his chest. A spark that was strong and radiant, and set him apart from the other two boys. From every boy in the whole world.  The boy stood with the sun at his back making it appear as if he was glowing. His gold hair and skin seemed to be extensions of the sun's rays; golden and bright. He seemed divine, and Patroclus took a step back, cowering from his radiance. 

     "You both sound like a couple of old women," he told his friends as he deftly climbed down from the crate pile. He stood between them in the middle of the road and turned to fix his eyes on Patroclus. "Who's this?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

    "I found him in the ally," Damon explained.

    "He's all wet," the boy observed. 

    Damon flashed a sheepish smile. "The ball landed in a puddle next to him." 

    The other boy clucked his tongue at him, then turned to Patroclus. 

    "Sorry about that," he said. "Damaneus means well, but he's really clumsy."

    "You can say that again," the second boy, Antilochus, snorted from behind them. The third boy smiled a little, turning to his friend before fixing his gaze back on Patroclus. This boy was even more up close than he was from a distance. His eyes were deep green, both mischievous and warm, staring directly at Patroclus. He wore a smile on his lips that Patroclus suspected never faded.

    "I'm Achilles," he said, reaching out a small hand. 

    "P-Patroclus," Patroclus stuttered, when he could finally find his voice. He accepted the boy's warm hand into his own and as soon as their skin touched, Patroclus felt an electric current pass through him. He saw Achilles' eyes fall from Patroclus to their clasped hands then back up to Patroclus again with a wonderstruck look that mirrored Patroclus' exactly. His expression told that he felt the pulse, too. 

    "Patroclus," he said repeating the name, and it rolled off of his tongue like the way a raindrop trickles down a flower's stem, sounding like music. After hearing just that one word, Patroclus knew he was hooked.

    After that day, Patroclus went to see the three boys often. He never really engaged with any of them, instead preferring to sit back and watch them play. He sat on the sidelines to see them kick balls around or hit rocks with sticks or to watch any other game that they played. Every once in awhile they would call to him to come play with them, but he would just flash a shy smile and claim he would rather watch. 

     He had learned a lot from simply observing the boys. For instance, he learned that Damon never went anywhere without his large dopey smile spread wide on his face. He was the boy that never quite took anything too seriously and had an uncanny ability to make everyone laugh. Antilochus was Damon's opposite. He was more cynical where Damon was constantly optimistic and happy. Antilochus was sarcastic and had a smirk that seemed to say 'I know something you don't', and he usually did. Somehow Antilochus knew everyone's secrets, not that he did anything with them. But he would sometimes arch a single eyebrow just to remind everyone that he knew. Antilochus was smooth and dispassionate, and on his own he might not have been the most likable character, but in his group he fit in just fine, acting as a balance force to keep his friends grounded. 

    Then of course, there was Achilles. He was like nothing Patroclus had ever seen before. No matter what the boys decided to do, he was the best at it. His natural ability had no equal.While Achilles played, while he chased and ran, he had this look. It was a sweet, innocent joy that broke out on his face and it made Patroclus forget everything. There was nothing in the world but him. He was honest and charming and lively, and it almost seemed impossible that he didn't realize the affect that he had on everyone. Especially Patroclus. To him, Achilles was like the bloom of a rose or a forest after a rainstorm. He seemed to be all things good in the world. A person who had never known sorrow, a tune which Patroclus knew too well. Patroclus was a creature of darkness and fear, whereas this boy was was a beacon of light. It drew Patroclus in. He  wanted to be near the boy, in hopes of catching some of the light that poured out of him. Wishing for his purity to fill his empty shell. Achilles would laugh, and it would sound like bells and would rival the song of every morning bird combined. The sound would ring in Patroclus' ears for hours, and he would use it as a lullaby to help him sleep. 

    But what was most important was his gaze. Every now and then Achilles would look up and his eyes met with Patroclus'. Those moments were brief but gave him life. They feed his soul, and when Achilles was not near him, Patroclus starved for his gaze. 

     Whenever he went to see the boys they would always greeted him hello when he came and always wished him good night whenever the sun began to set and all four parted to go home. But Patroclus didn't have a home. He didn't have parents. Like so many other unfortunate children in his time, the streets were both father and mother to him. In an alleyway he had set up some crates in a the form of a tiny house which were used to keep out the rain and the cold. Sometimes he would find it empty, and would use it as a place to sleep. But other times there would be another little boy or girl or dog occupying his home. And when this happened he would wander the streets until he found a good place to sleep.

      It hadn't always been like this. Patroclus had memories of a mother. She was sweet and kind to him, and would always promised that she loved him. But she had died, leaving him with his father. And one day, his father had taken all of his belongings and left for work and never came home again. Patroclus had sat, staring out his window for days, waiting for his father to come home. But he never did. Soon, there was no food left in his house and the bankers were knocking on his door, so Patroclus had to move on. But his memories were like a reflection in water. Hazy and unstill, he couldn't be sure how much was true.

    One afternoon, late in the day, the boys were playing baseball in the street. Damon was at bat holding a large club of wood in his hand, his tongue sticking out in concentration, while staring at Antilochus who had a ball in his hand, ready to pitch. 

     "Come on, Damon, you can do it," Patroclus cheered from the sidelines.

     "Yeah, let's go, Damon," Achilles called, ready on first base. Antilochus slowly drew his arm back and hurled the ball at Damon. Damon was quick and hit the ball, sending it flying into a pile of empty beer bottles, shattering them all. Antilochus let out a groan.

     "Yaaas," Achilles cheered as he ran around the bases,"winner!"

      "And the crowd goes wild! Who's the best batter in the world? 'Damon', they scream!" cheered Damon as he followed Achilles around the bases. 

      "Nice hit," Achilles told Damon as they rounded into home.

     "Yeah, nice hit, Damon, you lost our ball. Now how are we supposed play?" Antilochus pipped in. 

      "I didn't lose it," Damon demanded. "It's right over there. Somewhere in all of that pile of broken glass."

      "Are you volunteering to find it?" Antilochus inquired. 

      "Well, no," Damon said, looking down at his feet. "I don't wanna get cut."

     "Me neither, so that means we have nothing to play with," Antilochus pointed out.

     "Leave him alone," Achilles cut in, "we can just play something else."

     "No, my mom wants me to be home early today, I've gotta go," Antilochus said. 

     "Well, no game is fun with just two people, so I'll go too," Damon decided. "Good-night, Patroclus."

     "Good-bye," Patroclus said, standing up to leave. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his trousers and began to walk to his alleyway. He walked down the uneven cobblestone road, his head cast down, whistling quietly to himself, kicking all the pebbles in his way. As he walked something shiny caught his eye. He squinted to look at it. It came from a gutter and he moved closer to it to see that it was a small round silver piece. His whole insides lit up when he saw the money. It might have been two days since he had last eaten and he was starving. 

    He grabbed it and held it up to the setting sun, unable to believe his luck. It was beautiful. He clutched it safely in his fist and race to the bakery, which was only a few blocks out of his way, to buy a loaf of bread. He was struck with the sweet smell of bread before he saw it. All the loaves of different shapes and sizes stacked neatly in the display window caused his mouth to water. He entered the shop, his eyes wide, struck by how beautiful it all was.

      "Give me all you can for this, please," Patroclus told the baker, passing him the coin. 

      "Where'd a little gutter rat like you get a piece like this?" the baker asked. "You steal it?"

       "No," Patroclus gasped, defensively, shaking his head. "I found it."

     "All the same, it looks genuine," the baker said dropping the coin into his apron. He turned and began to slice up some bread, handing Patroclus half a loaf, wrapped neatly in wax paper. 

      "Thank you," Patroclus said, rushing out of the shop. He loitered outside of the bakery shoveling the bread into his mouth. It was soft and fluffy and tasted like the best thing Patroclus had ever eaten. He was still gnawing on it on his way home, and by the time he reached his crates, half of his bread was gone. He wrapped the rest back up, deciding to save it for later. Then he crawled into his little crate house, thankfully empty, and closed his eyes deciding that this was a good day.

     "Patroclus," he heard a voice say. Patroclus' eyes flew open and panic began to seize him. He would know that voice anywhere. Patroclus peeked his head out of his small crate palace to see Achilles standing over him, his brow twisted into an expression of confusion.

     "How did you know I was here?" Patroclus asked. Achilles bit into his bottom lip.

     "Where are your parents?" Achilles asked, ignoring Patroclus' question.

      "Did you follow me?" Patroclus asked. Achilles was silent for a moment.

      "Yes," he finally answered, then paused for a moment, thinking. "Patroclus, do you live here?" 

    Now it was Patroclus' turn to be silent. He turned his face down to stare at the dirty street below him. His cheeks flushed with shame. The baker was right. He was nothing but a gutter rat, and he wasn't worthy to be in Achilles' presence. He tried to shrink away, to make himself small. This would be the last time he was ever to see Achilles. Achilles would never talk to him again now that he knew his secret. Patroclus felt hot tears prick his eyes, preparing for the inevitable blow. 

    But it never came. Instead, Achilles squatted down beside him, and put his arm around his shoulders. 

      "Come with me," he whispered gently to Patroclus. Patroclus turned to the boy with a dumbstruck expression on his face, but he was helpless against Achilles' sincer green eyes, so Patroclus went with him. 

   Achilles took him by the hand and led him through the streets, looking back every so often to ask if Patroclus was alright. To be honest, Patroclus wasn't sure what he was feeling. Achilles was being kind, but he still felt a familiar anxious feeling in his stomach. If it wasn't for Achilles' hand, Patroclus  might have slipped away to hide in a hole and never come out. It was dark when they finally reached what Patroclus assumed was Achilles' house. 

   It was a modest middle class house, not too large, but it did have a certain charm to it. It was a cream color and had flowers lining the walkway, leading to a maroon door.  It reminded Patroclus of his old home, if he could really call what he had back then a home. It was really just a place that he once lived in. 

     "Achilles Pelides," a shrill voice called out when they entered his house. "Where have you been?" 

    Patroclus looked over Achilles' shoulder to see a tall, pale woman looking down at Achilles with a look of complete disdain in her cold, black eyes. Then she noticed Patroclus and her face twisted into a grimace. 

    "What is  _ that _ ?" she asked.

     "Mother, this is Patroclus," Achilles said, putting himself between his mother and Patroclus.

     "Oh, Achilles, how many times have I told you not to bring pets home?" she asked in a cool tone that sent shivers down Patroclus' spine. He decided in that moment that Achilles' mother terrified him. Just then a man walked into the room. He was tall and powerful despite his old age, but he had a softness in his eyes that made him look kind. 

    "What seems to be the matter?" he asked in a gentle voice, directing his gaze at his son. 

    "My son seems to have brought home a stray," Achilles mother answered for her son.

   "Our son, Thetis," Achilles' father reminded her. "And I don't see what's so wrong about a boy bringing home a friend." 

    Patroclus began to feel very small. He just wanted to turn and leave this place, and never come back. He could feel the eyes of Achilles' parents on him, studying him, as though he was some creature in a zoo. Achilles must have sensed his apprehension, because he leaned in close to Patroclus' ear.

    "My room's down the hall," he whispered. "Go. I'll meet you there in a minute." Patroclus let out a short sigh of relief and flashed the boy a tiny, grateful smile before skulking down into the hallway. He slipped inside the room and sat against the closed door to listen.

     "Really, Peleus, you're encouraging this? Out of all the stupid things that you've done," Patroclus heard Thetis say.

     "What's wrong with having the boy stay here?" Peleus asked.

    "Well, for starters it's filthy. And I don't want a dirty street crawler near my son."

     "Our son. And really, Thetis, don't you think you're being a little dramatic?."

     "Dramatic?" she shrieked. "Isn't is bad enough that we have to live amongst these... creatures  _ and _ that you allow my son to play with one. But now it's in our house."

      " _ He's _ my friend," Achilles demanded in a strong, clear voice. Patroclus could hear Peleus' knees crack as he knelt down to talk to his son, eye to eye.

     "What's this really about?" Peleus asked almost too gently for Patroclus to hear. 

     "He's all alone. He doesn't have any parents," Achilles answered softly, his youthful tone creeping back into his voice. 

     "And what do you plan on doing about that?" Peleus asked. 

    "I want him to stay with us. He can sleep in my room, I don't mind sharing. Not with him." 

     "Then so be it," Peleus said.

     "Oh, great," Thetis said dramatically, clacking her high heels as she left the room.

      "Don't mind your mother," Peleus told his son. "You did the right thing." 

    Patroclus fled to Achilles' bed when he could hear the other boy's footsteps coming towards the bedroom and pretended to study the pictures that were pinned onto his wall. 

      "So, if you want, you can stay here with me," Achilles told him, taking a seat on the bed next to Patroclus. "Forever." Patroclus let his gaze fall to his hands which were folded on his lap. 

      "I don't think your mother wants me here very much," he said, his thoughts trailing back to the disgusted look in the woman's eyes. He felt his face flush yet again with shame. 

     "I don't care," Achilles told him. "I want you here."

     "But why?" Patroclus whispered. There was nothing special enough about him to catch anyone's attention. Achilles rested his hand gently on Patroclus' knee.

     "Because you're my friend," he said, looking Patroclus in the eye. Patroclus' breath caught.

     "Okay," he said weakly.


	2. Chapter 2

The first few weeks living with Achilles were the strangest. Patroclus would find himself, out of habit, turning to go to his alleyway at the end of the day, when Achilles would gently tug at his hand to remind him it was time to go home. Then they would walk to Achilles' house, just the two of them, talking about whatever came to mind. 

"Guess what I'm thinking?" Achilles would ask. 

"I don't know. What?"

"That's no fun," Achilles would protest. "You have to guess." And Patroclus would roll his eyes a bit and smile. Achilles loved this game. 

"Ummm," he would start, glancing around for inspiration, "are you thinking about factories?"

"No."

"Are you thinking about food?"

"You're getting warmer."

"Tonights dinner?"

"No, last night's dinner. You know with the stew and the beef?" Achilles would say eagerly.

"You mean, the beef stew," Patroclus clarified.

"Yeah, that's it. Mmhmm, do you think we'll have some tonight?" And Patroclus would shrug.

"Maybe."

The boys developed a ritual while they were at home. Early in the morning they would rise and eat and head into Peleus' study where the older man would tutor them in philosophy and math and everything he thought a boy should know. Then they would go off to play. Sometimes with the other boys, but sometimes it would be just them. They spent hours in their room together. They mostly did this to avoid Thetis' dark glares, but there was also something special about the time they spent alone together. 

Sometimes they would push their beds together and make tents with their sheets, giggling in their secret little hide out, and make up stories to tell one another. Other times, when it was really dark, they would light a candle and play shadow puppets on the wall. Achilles would sometimes sing for Patroclus and pull out his little harp, and Patroclus would watch, enchanted by the angel that claimed to be his best friend. Patroclus didn't know when it happened, but one day it stopped being "Achilles' house" and "Achilles' room" and started to become apart of him as well. 

"This is home, isn't it?" Patroclus had asked Achilles one night when they both should have been asleep. He was lying on his back, his hands folded over his chest, staring at the ceiling. Achilles turned over to him, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Of course," he said, his tone serious, green eyes shining in the moonlight. "This will always be your home." 

Patroclus had rolled his head to the side, so that he was looking at Achilles' grave face, and smiled. You silly goose, he wanted to say. I didn't mean that my home was this house. You're my home.

"Okay," was all Patroclus said though. Achilles arched an eyebrow at him, as if reading his mind, and smiled. 

Patroclus had been living with Achilles for nearly a year when Achilles' grandfather had fallen ill. Thetis had left immediately when she had heard the news to be with her father. After she left it felt as though ten inches of dust had been swept from the house. The air was lighter and the sun shone more bright. The boys didn't take to their room as often, but would play around the house and in the backyard, racing and climbing trees in the woods behind the house. 

Peleus, too, was different without his wife at home. He wasn't so passive and dull, but was more welcoming and friendly. One day Achilles had snuck a frog into the house and lost it. Instead of yelling and glaring the way Thetis would have, Peleus got down on his hands and knees to help the boys look for the frog. They searched all night, but didn't find it. They didn't find it until the next day when Peleus pulled out his coffee mug and there the frog was, sitting right in the center of it. Achilles and Patroclus exchanged nervous glances, holding their breaths to see how the man would react. But after a moment of staring, Peleus burst into tears, keeling over he was laughing so hard. 

Later, when Achilles had got it into his head that he wanted to start sleeping under the stars, it was Peleus who had encouraged him to build a treehouse. Their treehouse looked terrible, but Peleus praised them anyway, proud of their hard work. At night, after dinner, the two boys would sit around and listen to Peleus tell stories about war and life. The older they got, the deeper their conversations became. This was the best of times. 

 

One afternoon, Patroclus and Achilles were lying side by side on the grass, staring up at the blue sky, swirling with bright white clouds. Patroclus closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face, feeling like he was in complete bliss. 

"Will it always be like this?" Achilles clear voice inquired, breaking the stillness. 

"Like what?" Patroclus asked, keeping his eyes shut.

"Like this. Happy."

"Of course," Patroclus answered without hesitation. Moments of serenity like this are like a crystal glass. Beautiful but fragile. No one ever thinks they'll break. 

"Promise?" Achilles asked. Patroclus opened his eyes and turned to Achilles, smiling at the sight of green fire in his eyes.

"Promise," Patroclus answered. Achilles considered this for a moment, scrunching his brow together in concentration. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his prized swiss army knife. 

"What are you doing?" Patroclus asked him calmly. Achilles didn't answer, he just opened the blade and cut a line into his palm. 

"Achilles!" Patroclus screamed, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the blood flowing down Achilles' wrist.

"Now you," Achilles said, holding the blade out to Patroclus. 

"What?"

"Now you," Achilles persisted, holding the knife closer. Patroclus hesitantly took the knife, glancing from the bloodied blade to Achilles' pleading face. The boy gave him an encouraging, curt nod. Patroclus took in a deep breath and cut a line into his own palm. No sooner after he pulled the knife away did Achilles press his bleeding hand into Patroclus'.

"There," Achilles said, staring Patroclus right in the eyes. "Now, we can always be apart of each other. I have your blood in my veins and you have mine. Forever."

"Forever," Patroclus whispered, transfixed by the intense look in Achilles eyes. In that second, lost in Achilles eyes, Patroclus felt time stop and the illusion of his bliss shatter. A cold, dark truth crawled through him, wrapping itself around his heart and squeezed. He was nothing, and this boy, whose warm bloody hand tightly grasped his own, was everything. Patroclus' happiness would forever be intertwined with Achilles. And for the first time ever, a sudden fear of losing him washed over Patroclus. Without Achilles there would be no sun, no moon, no Earth. His life would end as soon as Achilles was gone.

But that was also the moment when Patroclus realized that he had fallen in love.

The feelings had been there for a while. That flip he would feel in his stomach whenever Achilles would bit his lip and giggle. Or the fluttering he got in his chest whenever Achilles leaned in and whispered a secret in his ear. It was like a drowning, desperate and urgent and only grew as he aged. More than once Patroclus found himself turning away because of the bulge he would feel growing in his pants when Achilles touched him. He would flash Achilles an uneasy smile and blush as an excuse whenever this happened, resisting the mad desire to touch him, to hold him. 

But now, as he felt Achilles blood mix with his and run down his arm, the feeling was sanctified and he knew. This must be love.

"Forever," Patroclus said again, praying to the gods that if he said it enough it would become true.


	3. Chapter 3

As the boys grew, so did Britain's fear of Russia. Russia's growing strength threatened the careful balance of power that Europe had instilled for the past three hundred years. And it didn't help that Ottoman Empire was weakening, leaving a power vacuum that Russia and Britain were competing to fill. On every street corner there were posters of a lion fighting a big black bear meant to portray Russia. The increasing Russophobia ignited a spark in the boys and influenced them to change their game from baseball to war. Soldiery was their new obsession, and they would spend all day fighting each other with sticks that were meant to muskets.

"Surrender now or die," Achilles ordered Damon, pointing at him with a long knotted stick. Damon threw his hands in the air and glared. 

"Nooo, a good Russian never surrenders," Antilochus called to Damon from the sidelines where he and Patroclus were sitting since both of them had already died in battle. Patroclus nudged Antilochus with his elbow.

"Ghosts don't talk," he reminded him. Antilochus grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"So, you surrender then?" Achilles asked.

"Yez, I surrender to you," Damon spat bitterly in his best Russian accent. 

"Then you're my prisoner, get on our knees," Achilles demanded. Damon knelt.

"In the name of Her Majesty, I sentence you to death," Achilles shouted, aiming his stick at Damon. "Do it," Damon said. "I'm not afraid to die." Achilles hired his stick, narrowing his eyes to aim better, preparing to "shoot" when a large, hairy hand wrapped itself around the stick.

"I believed this young man surrendered," a deep voice said. 

Achilles craned his neck to get a good look at the man. The man was tall. He was a huge man who stood with the stance of a veteran but dressed in a coat of a peddler. It was simple and thin and buttoned up all the way to his long brown beard. His height and broadness should have been intimidating, but when he looked down at Achilles, the eyes under his bushy brows were soft and intelligent. His expression held all the markers of a teacher. "Usually, when someone surrenders, you don't have them executed."

"He's my prisoner, I'll do with him what I will," Achilles said, haughtily.

"And it's your will to kill a defenseless man?" the stranger asked gently.

"I'm doing him a favor, it's an honor to die on the battlefield," Achilles answered.

"True," the man said calmly, "but it's also honorable to show clemency."

"All a real man needs to show his courage," Achilles informed the stranger. 

"Perhaps, but a good man has other attributes. A good man shows mercy." 

Patroclus was shocked, he had never seen Achilles at a loss for words before. But there he was, speechless.

"It's just a game, mister," Damon pipped in, breaking character. "We're only playing." The man turned his head to the other boy, still on his knees with his hands held high above his head.

"I can see that, I only intervened because I fear that if you play war like this now, this is how you will play war when you are older, when it is not a game," the man answered. He removed his hand from Achilles stick and tipped his hat before leaving the boys all stuck with stunned expressions. 

"So, am I still going to be executed?" Damon asked when the man was long gone. 

"No," Achilles answered, tossing his stick to the ground. "I think I'm gonna go home."

"Awe, come on," Antilochus called, but Achilles was already walking away. Patroclus jumped up from where he was sitting and raced after him. 

Achilles walked with his head turned down, his mouth twisted into a frown. Patroclus could tell something was troubling him.

"Hey, guess what I'm thinking," Patroclus offered. But the boy just shook his head. 

"I don't want to play that game."

Achilles was silent for the rest of the night, lost in thought. Peleus gave Patroclus a questioning look at the dinner table, but Patroclus only shrugged, not knowing what was bothering him. Though he suspected it had something to do with the strange man. Achilles usually wasn't one who let others get to him, but this man surely had. Patroclus frowned looking at his troubled friend, wanting to set his mind at ease.

"Are you okay?" he asked once they were tucked into bed for the night. 

"Yeah," he answered. "Just thinking."

The next morning Patroclus woke to find Achilles sitting at his window seat, staring out into the misty day. 

"What are you looking at?" Patroclus grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

"Oh, nothing," Achilles answered, turning to look at Patroclus. "I'm glad you're up. We have something important to do today."

 

"Where are we going," Patroclus whined. Achilles had practically forced Patroclus out of bed and then dragged him outside to wander the streets. It was really too early for whatever Achilles had in mind. 

"Just come on," Achilles said, peeking into each of the alleyways that they passed.

"Fine, but will you at least tell me what we're, or more accurately, what you are looking for?" 

They passed the place they had played in the day before, reaching a fork in the road. Achilles let out a defeated sigh and plopped down on the ground. Patroclus took a seat next to him.

"What's going on?" 

Achilles let out another sigh.

"Nothing," he said, getting up. He reached out a hand for Patroclus and pulled him up beside himself. "I just thought I would... never mind." Patroclus gave Achilles a strange look before following him slowly down the street. But then Achilles' face brightened. "It's him!"

"Who?" Patroclus asked, but Achilles was already running. Patroclus took off in the same direction and saw the tall man in a gray peddlers jacket turn a corner. "Is that guy you're looking for?" Patroclus called out breathlessly.

"Come on, I don't want to lose him," Achilles urged. Patroclus tried to quicken his pace, but Achilles was much swifter than him and was already a good fifty feet ahead. "Come on," Achilles said again, turning to Patroclus. 

"I can't." Patroclus winced, feeling his lungs begin to burn. "Go on without me." Achilles didn't even hesitate. He turned back and ran for Patroclus, grabbing his hand and leading him down the street. "Stop, I'm slowing you down," Patroclus called over the sound of their drumming feet. 

Achilles said nothing, but kept his eyes focused on the road in front of him, tightening his hand around Patroclus. They ran for what seemed like forever after the man, though they had no idea where he was. There were plenty of turns he could have taken, bringing him further into the city and further away from the two boys pursuing him. But then, as if by some divine force, Patroclus caught glimpse of the man through a window. He was sitting at a table in a coffee shop drinking by himself with a newspaper in his hand. 

"Stop!" Patroclus called. Achilles halted. Patroclus stumbled forward, but Achilles reached out his hand and caught him. He always did.

"Did you see him?" Achilles asked. Patroclus nodded, catching his breath. 

"In the coffee shop," he managed to gasp out. When Patroclus could finally breath again, they turned and walked into the coffee shop, ignoring the strange looks they got from the men there. Achilles walked right up to the man's table and took a seat directly across from him. 

"Tell me how to be a good man," he said as soon a s he sat down. The man lowered his newspaper and raised a bushy brow. 

"Pardon me," he said.

"Tell me how to be a good man," Achilles repeated, as Patroclus slipped into the seat beside him. The man folded his newspaper and set it aside.

"Tell me," he said, "what is your name?"

"Achilles, and this is my best friend, Patroclus."

"Well, Achilles, Patroclus," the man said acknowledging them both with a nod, "have either of you ever drunk coffee?" The two boys exchanged looks. They had. It was bitter and awful. 

"Do good men drink coffee?" Achilles asked. The man let out a soft chuckle that seemed to rumble.

"Some do," he answered.

"Then we would like some," Achilles informed. The man ordered for two cups to be sent over and in record time two steaming cups of coffee were placed before them. Patroclus took a small sip. It tasted like dirt. He subtly spit it back into his cup and set it down. 

"How to be a good man?" the man said after a while, pondering the question. "You're asking me a question that mankind has been debating since the beginning of time."

"But yesterday," Achilles insisted, "don't you remember, you said a good man shows many attributes. What are they?" The man considered this.

"Well, in ancient Rome there was a king, his name was Marcus Aurelius, he came up with fourteen virtues he thought a good man should have. Things like respectability, and fortitude, and humor, and so on. But he was just one man. That is just one opinion. It's not something someone can just tell you how to do."

"Well, what do you think?" Achilles asked, abandoning his cup of coffee.

"I think that being a good man means being able to think," the man answered. "If you know how to think, you don't need someone to tell you what to think. You should trust your judgment and be sure it is honest. But really, that is only my opinion. You have to grow to find your own." 

Achilles considered this. "But how?"

"It's just something you have to figure out on your own," the man said. Achilles frowned and turned to his head down to stare into his cup of coffee.

"What's your name," Patroclus pipped in.

"Chiron."

"Were you ever in a war?"

"Oh, yes," Chiron said leaning back in his seat. "There is never a time when a man's values and character are put to a greater test than when he is in war. It's easy to forget yourself." Patroclus turned his head to peek at Achilles. The boy sat with his brow scrunched, nibbling on his lower lip, lost in thought. 

"Ummm," Patroclus let out, looking from Achilles to Chiron. "Maybe we should leave." He really wasn't sure what else to do. Chiron gave him a kind, dismissing nod, and Patroclus and Achilles slid out of their stools and headed out to the street. 

Achilles was on autopilot walking home. He trudged beside Patroclus with his head weighed down in concentration. Patroclus kept looking to him with a worried look, but he didn't have the heart to try and break Achilles' thought with conversation. 

Like the night before, Achilles sat at the dinner table unusually silent, flicking his food around his plate with his fork. Peleus looked at Patroclus for an explanation, but the boy could only answer with a shrug, pleading the older man with his eyes to let his son be. 

"Why are we supposed to hate Russia?" Achilles asked, setting his fork down, breaking the silence.

"Well," Peleus answered, taken aback by his son's sudden question. "I suppose it's because they're powerful and that's threatening."

"Well, why is Russia so powerful?"

"Because of Peter the Great, I guess. He was the one responsible for pulling Russia out of the dark ages," Peleus answered.

"This Peter the Great," Achilles started. "Was he a good man?" Peleus stopped and thought about this for a moment.

"Yes and no," he finally concluded. Achilles snorted.

"How can he be both?" he asked, confused.

"He was great for modernizing Russia, but his methods were, well, questionable," his father told him.

"How so?"

"You could say his efforts were built on the backs of his people," Peleus said.

"How is that a bad thing?"

"Achilles," Patroclus broke in, "thousands of people died trying to build him a stupid city."

"That's not stupid," Achilles argued. "It was tactful." Patroclus shook his head.

"It wasn't worth so many lives."

"Sure it was," Achilles said. "All of those people were going to die one day anyway. At least they got to die with a purpose. Now, their future generation can have a city and industrialization."

"Well, who gets to decide what those people's lives were worth?" Patroclus snapped.

"Boys, boys, settle down," Peleus said, raising his hands in the air. "Maybe you should try looking at it in a different way. Do you think it was worth so many men to have Helen returned to Sparta? To have thousands die for one person or one cause?"

"Of course not," Patroclus said easily. "Priam should have had her returned immediately. A single person is no reason to start a war." He turned to Achilles. The boy had his eyes downcast and his head balanced on his palm.

"Achilles?" Peleus asked, a touch of concern in his tone.

"I guess," Achilles said, agreeing with Patroclus. He excused himself from the table, claiming to be tired, and went to bed. Patroclus followed him into their room a few minutes later and found Achilles lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Patroclus bit into his lip, unsure how to deal with Achilles' mood. He had never seen him like this before. 

"Good-night," he told him, not really sure what else he could say. He didn't think Achilles had heard him. He crawled under his blankets, turning his back to the boy, and closed his eyes. He heard Achilles walk over to his bed and felt him gently lift the covers off of him to crawl under the blankets.

"Patroclus," Achilles whispered, wrapping his arm around him.

"Huh?" Patroclus asked, feeling his skin burn where Achilles touched him. 

"I know it might be wrong, but I would start a war for you. To protect you."

"Even if it cost hundreds of lives?" Patroclus teased.

"Even if it cost thousands," Achilles answered seriously.

"But why?" Patroclus asked, his heart beginning to hammer.

"Because you're worth more than all of them combined."


	4. Chapter 4

    "Hand me your pawn," Patroclus said, sliding his bishop into Achilles' pawn. Achilles stared down at the chess board they were playing on and frowned.

     "How come you're so good at this?" he asked as Patroclus moved the pawn to the side of the game where eight more of Achilles' lost pieces were lined up.

     "Because I'm actually good at strategy," Patroclus bragged. Achilles clicked his tongue.

     "Well, this game is dumb. I'd rather be outside," he pouted, falling back onto his bed.

     "Well, you can't, it's raining. Now, come on, it's your move," Patroclus said. Achilles sighed and sat up, moving his knight.

     "Oh, checkmate," Patroclus grinned, sliding his rook across from Achilles' king. Achilles sat silently for a moment, before picking up the chess board and flipping it over.

     "I'll show you a check mate," he yelled lunging at Patroclus.

    "Stop," Patroclus laughed as Achilles wrestled him onto the floor. 

    "Say that I'm the best chess player in the world," Achilles shouted triumphantly wrapping his arms around Patroclus' waist. 

    "Never!" Patroclus cried, twisting out of Achilles' grip. But Achilles was too quick for him and had Patroclus pinned on the ground beneath him in seconds. 

    "Say it," Achilles ordered.

    "No," Patroclus said, squirming under Achilles' body weight. Achilles leaned in, inches from Patroclus' face and smiled.

    "Say it," he said again.

    "Achilles!" a shrill voice called from the other room. Both boys froze. Patroclus felt his stomach turn to ice. He would know that haunting voice anywhere.

   "Mother," Achilles whispered, the smile dropping from his face.

    "Achilles!" Thetis cried again. Quickly, Achilles scrambled off of Patroclus, jumping to his feet. He offered a hand to Patroclus and pulled him up. Patroclus could feel the tension in Achilles' muscles. 

     "Achilles!"

    "Yes, Mother," Achilles answered, leaning in his doorway. From across the hall, Patroclus could see Thetis standing to her full height, looking just as frightening as he remembered. Her face twisted into a smile when she saw her son. It caused a shiver to run down Patroclus' spin.

    "I'm home," she said to her son. "And look how big you've gotten." 

    Patroclus receded back into his room as Achilles went out to greet his mother. He fell back onto his bed, not feeling his legs at all. She was back. It felt like the temperature had dropped, he could barely breath. She was back. Oh God, she was back. 

  
  


     Patroclus stayed hidden in his room, not daring to go out. Achilles had been gone for quite some time, no doubt catching up with Thetis. When he came back to the room, it was dark and Patroclus was already in bed. Achilles stepped in, trying to be silent, but Patroclus heard him anyway.

    "How... how is she?" Patroclus asked when the door was shut.

   "She's fine," Achilles answered wearily. 

   "Oh, good," Patroclus said. He swallowed and his throat felt like sandpaper.

    "Hey," Achilles said coming over to sit on Patroclus' bed. He reached out and grabbed his hand. "Don't worry about her. Not for a second, okay?"

      "Okay," Patroclus whispered, looking up into Achilles' strong eyes. Despite the darkness they seemed to glow. Patroclus felt safe looking into them. 

      "Do you think... do you think you could sleep with me tonight?" Patroclus asked, not wanting to be alone.

     "Of course," Achilles answered, sliding into Patroclus' bed with him. He wrapped a strong arm over Patroclus' body and it was as if his touch absorbed some of the boy's troubles, lightening the weight on Patroclus' shoulders. 

      But the worry was still there. If Thetis was cruel to him when he was young, he could only imagine how she would treat him now. Who knows what she would do if she learned of the feelings that Patroclus harbored for her son. The thought kept Patroclus awake. He tried to sleep, to let the gentle rhythm of Achilles' breathing soothe him, but it was all in vain. He needed air. 

     He quietly slipped out of his bed and out into the hallway, heading for the kitchen. He realized he hadn't eaten since Thetis had arrived, and his stomach was twisting with hunger. There had been a time when he wore hunger like an old coat, but that had been a long time ago. A snack might calm his nerves. 

     The house was pitch black but he knew it like the back of his hand and could navigate through it even in the dark. The large window in the kitchen caught the reflection from the moon, lighting the room as Patroclus walked in. He walked straight for the cupboard, hoping to find some crackers to snack on, when he heard a chilly voice call out to him.

    "So, I see you're still here," Thetis said. Patroclus jumped, he hadn't seen her when he had come in. He swallowed hard and turned to face her. She looked like a ghost standing at the end of the room. The moon made her skin shine even paler than it normally was. Her hateful, black eyes bore into him. She was like a  huntress stalking her prey. Patroclus felt his stomach drop. 

     "I thought he would have grown out of you by now," she continued. "I can't possibly see what he must see in you." 

     Patroclus said nothing, too terrified to find words. She moved close to him, she didn't appear to walk, but float, and in an instant she was so close Patroclus could smell the salt on her skin. She looked him up and down, complete disgust showing on her face. 

    "Well, don't get used to it," she said. "He'll grow up, and leave you. He has a destiny to fulfill, and he doesn't need someone like you holding him back." 

    With that she and left without a sound, leaving Patroclus too stunned to move. When he finally felt his pulse slow down he rushed, shaking, back into his bed, Thetis' haunting words hovering over him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

      Patroclus was sitting on his bed, using the last of the sun's light to read a book when Achilles came into their room and fell down onto his bed to let out a loud groan into his pillow. For the past week Thetis had insisted on taking her dinners in her room with Achilles. He would spend hours with her and would come back completely drained.

     "How was dinner?" Patroclus asked, putting his book aside.

     "Fine," Achilles answered. "How was yours?" 

     "Fine." They never spoke of it more than this.

     "Hey," Achilles said, lifting himself from his pillow, "I was thinking that we should camp in the backyard tomorrow night." Patroclus smiled. 

    "Just the two of us?" Patroclus asked.

   "I invited Damon and Antilochus this morning, do you mind?" 

   "No."

   "So, it's settled. We can collect wood in the morning and build a huge campfire, like we did when we were kids, do you remember?" Achilles asked.

    "Yeah," Patroclus said, not mentioning that they had camped out just last year.

    "Okay, well I'm really tired," Achilles said, crawling under his blankets. "I think I'll take a nap. Good night, Patroclus."

    "Good night."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    The next day they walked all around the streets, picking through alleyways to find anything they could use to burn in their campfire. They met up with Antilochus and split up, making a game of who could find the most. Patroclus made it back to his house carrying an armful of cardboard boxes.

    "Looks like I win," Antilochus said gesturing to a pile of twigs as tall as his knees.

    "That shouldn't count, you just hung around the woods and grabbed sticks," Patroclus complained. Antilochus shrugged.

    "Being resourceful doesn't count as cheating," he pointed out.

     "He has a point," Achilles stated. "Now, your prize is that you get to carry all that wood to the campfire." Antilochus let out a groan, scooping up a pile and followed Achilles into the woods behind his house to the small clearing that they set up as a camp site. 

     "Did anyone remember to bring matches?" Antilochus asked, dropping the his sticks into a pile. Patroclus patted down the front pockets of his trousers and then moved to the ones on the back. 

     "Sorry, I must have forgotten," he admitted sheepishly.

    "That's fine," Achilles told him, squatting in front of the pile of wood. He grabbed two sticks and began rubbing them together.

    "You'll never be able to... hey," Antilochus said as the sticks began to let off smoke. In a few minutes a small fire was blazing. "Geez, where did you learn to do that?" Achilles shrugged.

     "I figured it would be a useful skill," he answered, "so I've been practicing." 

    The boys fed the fire with twigs and cardboard and by the time the sun had sunk low in the sky, they had a large fire blazing. They sat back around it, poking it with sticks when Damon ran up to them, panting.

    "Well, look who decided to show up," Antilochus commented.

    "Sorry," Damon flushed, catching his breath from his run. "But I was with  _ her _ ." He let out a dreamy sigh, leaning against a tree.

    "Oh, brother," Antilochus muttered.

    "Who are you talking about?" Patroclus asked.

    "A girl smiled at him on the street yesterday, and now he fancies himself in love," Antilochus answered.

   "After one smile?" Patroclus asked, with disbelief.

   "Oh, even before that," Damon sighed. "I felt her before I even saw her, I was lost before we even met."

   "That makes no sense," Antilochus pointed out.

   "It does if you're in love," Damon said.

   "What's she like?" Patroclus asked.

   "Oh, she is beautiful. Her hair is redder than this fire. We spent all day together, and I made her laugh so hard she snorted. Isn't that the cutest thing you've ever heard. My sweet Carmilia," Damon sighed.

   "But how do you know that you're in love?" Achilles asked.

   "Ah, sweet youth. I can't put it into words, my dear Achilles, it is something you feel. A flutter in your stomach when she looks into your eyes or the wonderstruck look that is left on your face after she leaves," Damon said. "You'll know it when you feel it." Achilles considered this. 

    "And it happens just like that, the moment you meet?"

   "For me, yes," Damon answered.

   "Oh, you don't know anything about love," Antilochus said, waving him off. 

   "I do too," Damon argued. "You just don't get it because you'll flirt with anything in a skirt."

   "True," Antilochus said with a smirk, "but all that matters is that they flirt back."

   "I love Carmilia, I don't care what you say," Damon claimed.

   "Oh yeah," Antilochus said with a sly smirk. "Then you better hold her tight so the Russians don't get her." Damon gasped.

    "They wouldn't dare touch her!"

   "Why not, they want to steal our land, so why not our women," Antilochus pointed out.

    "I'd kill anyone who tried to touch her," Damon declared.

    "Well, who says she won't go willingly?"

    "She would never fall for one of those bearded barbarians," Damon said.

   "Having a beard doesn't make you a barbarian," Patroclus said. "It's just really cold in Russia, they probably only grow them to stay warm."

   "It's true," Antilochus said. "My father told me even the women have beards. And sometimes," he said dropping his voice, "when it gets  _ really _ cold and they run out of trees, they use their children as firewood."

   "That doesn't even make sense," Achilles protested.

   "It's true, my father told me."

   "Well, I wonder what their fathers say about us," Achilles said. 

   "Who cares what they think?" Antilochus snorted. "They are all just simple brutes. I bet all the Russians put together barely share a brain." 

    Achilles opened his mouth like he might protest, but he didn't.

   "Yeah, I guess," he muttered, looking down to poke the fire with a stick. Patroclus saw his shoulders sag.

   "Well, I don't care what you say, Antilochus," Damon was saying, "I love her and she would never leave me for one of them."

   "Gods, stop talking about her," Antilochus exclaimed. Achilles pushed himself up and slipped away into the woods, unnoticed by everyone but Patroclus who saw him leave.

   "You're just jealous," Damon said.

   "Am not."

   "Are too," Damon bantered.

    Patroclus got up, letting the two argue and went out in search for Achilles. He found him sitting up in their treehouse, staring out at the rising moon.

    "Hey," Patroclus said, climbing up into the treehouse through the ladder.

   "Hey," Achilles responded.

    "You know, they were only goofing off."

    "I know," Achilles mumbled. Patroclus crawled up beside him. 

     "I doubt Antilochus really thinks that the Russian women are bearded," he said. Achilles snorted.

     "Or they they burn their children for warmth. It's just," Achilles said, tossing a pebble into the woods, "that it's stupid how much we're supposed to hate them. Did they stop becoming men just because their country is getting to be more powerful? I mean, look at us. Britain is the most powerful country in the world, isn't it hypocritical of us to hate a country just because it, too, is becoming powerful?" Patroclus nodded.

    "I get it," he said. Achilles let out a sigh.

    "Sometimes I feel like you're the only other person that does," he admitted. He drew his knees up, close to his chest. "Can I tell you a secret?" he whispered.

    "Anything," Patroclus told him honestly.

    "When I turn seventeen next summer, I'm enlisting into the army." Patroclus froze. A cold fear swept up through his whole body. "Is it really that surprising?" Achilles asked.

    "No," Patroclus whispered. And it wasn't. Achilles was born to enlist. His natural abilities and courage  gave him the markings of a grand leader. As children, they had talked about enlisting, but that had just been talk. Now it was real. Thetis' words suddenly came into Patroclus' mind. Slithering up inside of him, choking him.  _ He'll grow up, and leave you.  _ He felt like he couldn't breath.

    "I talked to my father about it. He thinks it's a good idea."

     "Oh, sure," Patroclus mumbled, not really listening. Achilles turned to him. 

    "Patroclus, if I join, will you join with me?"

   "Yes," Patroclus said automatically. As if he ever wanted to spend a second of his life away from this boy. He would follow him to hell and back, so why not war? 

   Achilles let out a relieved sigh. "Good," he said. "I don't think I could make it out there without you."

    Patroclus sat in silence, listening to the crickets in the distance chirp. He had a million things racing through his mind, he wanted to go back. Back to yesterday, before he heard this news. Back when he thought he still had Achilles forever. 

   "Aren't you afraid that you'll die?" he asked, needing to fill the silence. Achilles shook his head.

   "I'm not afraid to die," he said. "If there's an afterlife and I die a hero, I'll be rewarded. And if not, death will be like sleeping. A long nap that I'll never wake from. Neither of those things sound too scary to me."

   "Oh," Patroclus said, looking down at his lap. He was afraid. Not of his death, oh no. What kind of loss would that be? But what kind of world would there be without Achilles?  He was the sun that everything revolved around. Without him the universe would shatter. Patroclus sat in silence as fear gripped his heart. 

     "Hey," Achilles said gently, scooting close to Patroclus. "I may not be afraid to die, but that doesn't mean I'm going to. I have too much to do first."

     "Like what?" 

     Achilles looked out to the sky for a moment.

     "Well, um, do you think Damon was right about love?" he asked after a moment. "That it feels all fluttery and wonderstruck?"

     "Oh," Patroclus said, startled by the sudden change in topic. "I guess." 

   But in fact, Patroclus knew. He felt love. Everyday, every second of his life he felt it. Maybe it started as butterflies and awe, but love, true love, was much deeper. It was an ache in the pit of your stomach that swelled and burned when you were near the person you loved. A sensation that couldn't be put into words, but had to be felt. Achilles reached for Patroclus' hand, and a jolt shot up his arm.

     "Do you think... do you think that maybe someone could be in love with someone their whole life and never realize it, until in a moment it hits them?" Achilles asked. Patroclus felt his breath stop. What did Achilles mean? Was there some girl in his life that he didn't know about?

     "Maybe it depends on the moment," Patroclus answered. Achilles smiled softly, turning Patroclus' hand around.

     "How about in a moment when they branded each other?" Patroclus felt Achilles trace the thin scar on his palm, then realization struck him. 

     "Or like a moment where they promised each other forever," Patroclus suggested, feeling his heart pace faster.

     "That would be a good moment to realize," Achilles said, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.

     "A perfect one," Patroclus agreed, breathlessly, feeling his whole body ache.

     "Patroclus."

     "Yes?"

    "I think I might love you," Achilles told him, looking up into his eyes.

    "I think I might love you, too," Patroclus said, his chest swelling. 

    Achilles reached up his free hand and gently touched Patroclus' cheek, leaning in just a bit. Patroclus swallowed hard, scooting closer to Achilles. Achilles moved gingerly and caught Patroclus' lips with his own. It was like an explosion in Patroclus' body. He could feel himself tremble under Achilles' touch as he moved himself closer, pressing their lips tighter together. It was a simple and innocent kiss. The touch of youth and inexperienced passion, but it was a kiss that Patroclus would carry on his lips for the rest of his life.


	5. Chapter 5

    Things almost remained completely the same. Only now, whenever Patroclus would find himself alone with Achilles he would kiss him or whisper words of affection in his ear. There were no more secrets between them, nothing hidden. They thought they were clever, the way they constantly snuck into their treehouse to spend hours alone. 

    In their honeymoon glazed bliss they never suspected that everyone around them was noticing the change between them. But it was like they were wrapped in sunlight. The glow between them burned so bright they could be mistaken for two stars that had fallen to Earth. It was like running on water, like a high that knew no end. Achilles would hold Patroclus in his arms and his soul would soar higher than ever before. 

     But Patroclus was still aware of time. It was like an hourglass had been tilted, each grain of sand like sparkling star dust, representing each wonderful moment that they had together, but time was running out. In the daylight, with Achilles, it was as though Patroclus had been bathed in sunlight, but at night, when Achilles lay fast asleep next to him, a sudden fear would fill Patroclus reminding him of what was to come. It was like a ticking in his head, counting down until Achilles would leave him for war. 

     Patroclus had been the only one with Achilles when they had gone to volunteer for the army. He honestly thought there would be more ceremony to enlistment. After all they both would be signing away seven years of their lives. But the officer simply handed them  piece of paper and sent them on their way. It happened casually. It was like going to the bank. 

    Antilochus was next to enlist, and then Damon. Soon they all the boys in town had military papers, tucked neatly in their back pockets, killing time until training started. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Patroclus thought that his stomach would twist and break it was knotted so tight. He had a small bag open on his bed stuffed with a few possessions for the next day when he had to leave for training. How could the time have past so quickly?  Achilles rested his hand on Patroclus' shoulder to stop him from trembling.

   "This is really happening," Patroclus whispered.

   "It is," Achilles said gently. Patroclus spun around and pressed his forehead against Achilles'. 

    "It's too soon," he whinned. Achilles tilted his chin up and lightly kissed his lips.

    "It's going to be okay, I'll be with you the whole

time." 

    Patroclus laced his  fingers through Achilles' unbound hair, pulling him back down so that their lips were touching. Patroclus kissed him gently, coaxing Achilles' lips apart with his tongue, tasting the inside of his mouth. Achilles moved his hands down to Patroclus' hips and pulled him closer. Patroclus let out a small whimper, moving his lips over Achilles' cheeks and jaw before finally burying his head in the crook of Achilles' neck. Achilles rubbed his hands up and down Patroclus' back. The other boy leaned into his embrace, breathing in Achilles scent. There was a light tap on the door, the two immediately split up. 

     "Come in," Achilles said, clearing his throat. Peleus peeked his head inside the room before deciding to step in. He immediately went and embraced his son, then turned to Patroclus and pulled him into a hug as well. 

   "I'm going to miss you boys," he said, his eyes beginning to wet. "Promise me you'll keep each other safe?"

    "Come on, Dad, you know we'll be fine," Achilles assured.

    "I have no doubt about that. But promise me anyway."

     "Okay, we promise," Achilles said. "Now, please don't worry. It's only training."

    Peleus nodded pulling out of the embrace. He stood back and regarded the two boys in front of him for a long time. 

         "Look at the two of you," he said, his voice raspy. "My boys, so grown up." 

    Peleus fell silent again. His brow was heavy and his watery blue eyes reflected a grief that only a father could know. There were his boys getting ready to train for war. 

     "I have something for you both," Peleus said after a long moment. He reached inside of his pocket and pulled out two musket balls. "Back when I fought against Napoleon these were only shots that I ever received," he said handing a ball to each boy. "Got one in the shoulder, the other in the leg. Both times they said I'd die, but I'm still here." Peleus grinned. "They're for luck."

    "Thank you," Patroclus said, curling his fingers around the cold metal. 

     "God, it was like yesterday when the two of you were playing baseball and bringing frogs into the house. Now, you're in the military. I don't know if I can ever get used to that. Oh, well I guess I've said my piece," Peleus said. "I'll leave you two to pack."  He left their room closing the door gently behind him.

       Patroclus reached for his pack and carefully placed the musket ball inside. He didn't have many personal belongings in his bag. He had a picture that Achilles had drawn of him. Patroclus smiled remembering posing for five hours while Achilles had drawn him. He'd been so annoyed at the time, but now that drawing was one of his most prized possessions. He also had a purple ribbon, the only thing he had left of his mother. Everything else were necessities; clean underwear and socks and so on. He really didn't know what to expect, so he couldn't be sure what to pack. 

__ Patroclus closed his pack and put it on the floor next to his bed. He lifted his blankets and fell onto his soft mattress. A few moments later, Achilles joined him, wrapping his arms around Patroclus, pulling him in tight. Patroclus let himself melt into his touch, but the apprehension in his chest remained. He spent all night staring at the ceiling, listening to the Achilles breathing softly beside him. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Patroclus squinted his eyes to adjust to the morning sunlight. Achilles was not beside him. It seemed late.

    Patroclus rubbed his tired eyes and stumbled into the kitchen where he found Peleus stirring himself a cup of tea. When he saw Patroclus he gave him a watery smile and began to stir a second cup.

    "Good morning," Peleus said, handing him a cup. Patroclus sat at the table and began to sip the tea gingerly. He nibbled on a piece of toast, but he really wasn't that hungry. The two ate in silence until they heard the wheels of a wagon rolling outside of the house.

    "That must be the carriage," Patroclus muttered. Peleus nodded. Patroclus grabbed his pack and stood up. Peleus, too, rose and took a few slow steps towards Patroclus. 

     "Good luck," he said.

     "Thanks," Patroclus replied. Peleus smiled and clasped one of his hands on Patroclus' shoulder.

      "I just want to tell you," he began, "that I've always thought of you as my son. And I couldn't be more proud of you." Patroclus held his gaze. Out of nowhere an image of his own father peeked into his mind. What would he say to Patroclus if he saw him here?

      Peleus walked him to the front door where Achilles was already standing, embracing his mother. 

     "Of course I'll write," he was saying, stroking her hair. She pulled back and planted a kiss on his cheek.

      "Good-bye then," she said. Achilles moved on to say his good-byes to his father. Patroclus went to step outside to give him privacy, when Thetis reached out her bony hand and grabbed his arm, digging her long talons into his skin. 

   "Don't you dare come home without him," she hissed. Patroclus yanked his arm back, feeling the weight of her black stare. He swallowed hard and raced out the front door, thinking her saw her chin quiver as he left. But he couldn't be sure. 

     Patroclus picked out a flower and began to pluck out the petals. Achilles came outside a few minutes later accompanied by Peleus. He walked the boys to the carriage and offered them one last goodbye before they began to pull away. Patroclus stared out the window of the carriage, watching his house- his childhood- grow smaller and smaller in the distance. 

     "Guess what I'm thinking," Achilles said, his clear voice breaking the nervous silence. Patroclus smiled, briefly forgetting his apprehension.

     "I don't know, what?" he asked.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           "Wake up. Wake up, Patroclus," Achilles sang in a soft voice, gently shaking Patroclus' arm. Patroclus let out a groan as he opened his eyes and rubbed at the spot on his head that had been leaning against the window of the carriage. He flicked his tongue around in his mouth to wash away the taste of sleep.

    "How long have been asleep?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

    "Only an hour," Achilles told him. 

    "Oh, my God," Patroclus mumbled, rubbing his palm against his forehead.

    "But look, we're here," Achilles said.

     "Here?" Patroclus asked, his brain still foggy with sleep. 

    "Patroclus," Achilles whinned, turning the boy until he had a clear view out of the carriage window. 

     Patroclus jaw dropped. There was no way that the estate erected outside of the window was the military barracks that he would by training at. As far as he was concerned this monument was a palace. His eyes followed the long grey columns until they seemed to blend in with the grey of the sky. And everywhere he looked, Patroclus could see men already dressed in their red uniforms loitering around the graveled court in front of the manson. 

     "Not too shabby, huh?" Achilles asked giving him a nudge. Patroclus nodded, pushing the carriage door open. A chilled breeze greeted him as he stepped out of the carriage and towards the great iron gates leading into the estate. 

     "There you two are," a familiar voice called out from somewhere in the crowd of red. Patroclus looked around until he saw Antilochus marching towards him, Damon racing to keep up with his friend's strides. "We've been looking for you everywhere. We thought you were going to be late."

      Patroclus shifted his bag on his back. "Well, we're not."

     "When do we get our uniforms?" Achilles asked, eyeing the soldiers already dressed in red with envy.

    "I don't know," Antilochus answered. "But look, you have to pass in your papers to one of the officers over there next to the cannon and then line up in the square."

    "Oh, okay," Patroclus said heading for the officers set up at a table near a line of decorative cannons. He and Achilles unceremoniously passed in their papers before headed into the crowd forming in the square. 

     An officer walked through the gilded front door of the manson. He was average in height and nothing of his appearance made him seem remarkable, yet somehow he electrified the crowd. A hush fell as he began to pace up and down the mob of men.

     "You call this a line?" he called in a clear, strong voice which seemed to echo throughout the square. Immediately, the men began to organize themselves, lining up with their backs ramrod straight in neat rows.

     "That's more like it," the man said. "I am Colonel Odysseus Laertiades and am here to formally welcome you to the 14th light brigade. Now, you will be training in calvary and it will be intense, but let me tell you the outcome of all of your hard work. You will be guided and organized and when you leave your training you will be fit to be called soldiers. This army is a reflection of our great nation and for that reason it will be disciplined. The following rules will be enforced with severe punishment if broken. No brawling, no theft, no gambling, no drunkenness or ill behavior will be tolerated. Every morning by sunrise it is expected that you will be up and dressed with your bed made and your room tidy. From there you will have a quick breakfast and then go immediately to the training field dressed and ready for drills. Training begins tomorrow, for now follow me." 

    The boys marched obediently through the large mahogany doors and into the marble foyer. They all began to look around with wide eyes, marveling at the grandness of the estate. Though Peleus was more than wealthy, he chose to live by modest means. This was the first time Patroclus had seen a place so elegant.  

    "Through this way here you will find the dining hall," Odysseus informed, gesturing to a tall door. "This will likely be your favorite part of the estate. Moving on." The boys followed him through a common area decorated with Renaissance styled ornaments and paintings. There was a table set up for chess and an old piano tucked away in the corner.

    As they walked through the grey manson, Patroclus had a feeling that he was walking through a ghost house. The entire grand estate was beautiful, but only a shadow of the grandeur it had once been. The walls were washed out, the paintings were faded, and the lanterns seemed all seemed dim. 

    "Baths," Odysseus said, waving his hand to a door. He turned a corner and gestured down a long hall. "This is the officers quarters and offices. I don't  imagine you'll have any reason to be going down here. Now up here," Odysseus said, running up a curved staircase, "is the soldier's residence where you will all be staying. All rooms are to be doubled up, so I hope you have a decent roommate in mind."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Patroclus imagined that all the rooms were set up in the same way. Bare except for two beds set up opposite of each other, a tiny nightstand by each bed with a tiny lamp on top. Nothing grand, yet it still had the antique charm that the rest of the estate had. He dropped his pack on the floor and fell face first into his bed. The mattress was stiff.

    "How can you still be tired? You slept most of the way here," Achilles exclaimed.

    "I don't know," Patroclus said pushing himself off of the bed. "It's just been a lot, you know."

     "Oh, Patroclus," Achilles gasped. With trembling hands he picked up a red uniform that was folded neatly on his bed. "I hope it fits."

     "I'm sure it will," Patroclus told him with a smile. 

    "It feels so right, doesn't it?" Achilles asked with a star struck gleam in his eyes.

    "Sure," Patroclus muttered walking over to the window. From his vantage point he had a perfect view of the training field below. It looked like it had just rained outside, but Patroclus knew it hadn't. It made everything look faded and washed out. A soggy field of green stretched across the back of the estate only ending when it reached the a line of trees standing like guards to mark the entrance of a forest. Patroclus had never seen so much empty space before. The field was sprinkled with obstacles and targets. There was a wooden contraption that three sacks hung down from. It reminded Patroclus of three criminals being hung at the gallows. He close his eyes to try and imagine what sort of training would be done with that. 

     "Uh hmm."

     Patroclus turned around to see Achilles dressed in his uniform. Achilles looked at his feet and then into Patroclus' eyes. Patroclus didn't know what to say. He was stunned. Achilles was a boy no longer, but a man dressed in a smart, red jacket, with his blond hair tied neatly with a leather strap and a beam on his face. 

     "You don't think it's too much, do you?" Achilles asked.

     "Oh, no," Patroclus stuttered. "You're perfect."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      It was warm on the training field. Patroclus honestly expected it to be much cooler so early in the morning, the sun had hardly had time to peak out from behind the forest to warm the earth with her gentle touch. 

     The soldiers were mulling around, waiting in sloppy lines for an officer to show up and boss them around. Beside him, Patroclus heard Antilochus bickering with Damon about his supposed snoring problem. Patroclus yawned and stretched out is tired muscles. It was early. The only one that didn't seem tired was Achilles, but he usually woke at ungodly hours.

     "Attention, company!" a loud voice boomed. The soldiers immediately stiffened. A decorated lieutenant stepped out in front of them. "Good work, men. I am your training commander Lt. Menelaus Atrides. You boys have been lucky enough to be selected to fight in the Queen's special cavalry brigade. Only a selected few can claim such a privilege. And I assure you, you men will have the best training possible. By the time I'm through with you, you will be soldiers." 

    Menelaus stopped abruptly and took a step back. He scanned the faces of each boy in line. Patroclus shifted under his glance. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Achilles standing tall, face forward and chest out.

    "You there, soilder," Menelaus called, walking up to Achilles. "What is your name?"

    "Achilles Pelides, sir."

   "Well, Pelides, do you think you have what it takes to be in the Queen's army?"

    "Yes, sir."

    "Have you ever used a musket before?"

    "No, sir."

    "Ever killed a man before?"

    "No, sir."

    "But you still think you're worthy?"

    "Yes, sir."

    "Prove it," Menelaus challenged with an antagonizing grin. He drew a saber from a sheath in his belt. "Do you see that practice dummy out in the field? I want you to take my sword and charge it as though it were your enemy. Show me what you've got, cadet."

    Silence fell as Achilles took the saber into his hands. It was as though the earth herself had gone still, holding her breath to see what he would do. If Achilles felt any hesitation, any doubt, he didn't show it. He simply stepped forward, braced his body and elegantly tested the blade, holding it above his head until he charged. 

    His speed was amazing, as it always was. Patroclus had no idea what Menelaus was trying to prove, but he had chosen the wrong man to prove it. Achilles moved with the agility of a cheetah. Swiftly he danced with his target, sweeping his blade across its straw chest. He swung his blade again, this time piercing the dummy in the abdomen. Achilles didn't stop until his foot was on the dummies neck and his blade was being pulled out of its chest. 

    It was like all of the air had been sucked out of the universe. The men all gawked as Achilles walked back and placed the saber back into Menelaus' stunned hands. He silently took his place back in line as though nothing had happened. 

    Menelaus sheathed his saber and turned to stare at Achilles. "Well done," was all he could say.

    "Well done?" a deep baritone voice boomed from behind the line. Patroclus jumped at the sound of the voice. 

    "General Atrides," Menelaus saluted, standing straight, the expression of awe now gone from his face. Agamemnon turned to face the soldiers. 

     "Tell me, brother," Agamemnon said facing Menelaus. "Are these soldiers or school boys?  _ Well done _ ? Are we training these boys to fight for our queen or for gold stars? Hmm?" He turned and walked right up to Achilles, keeping his voice loud enough so that everyone could hear. 

    "Is that what you're here for, boy? For approval? To make mommy and daddy proud? I bet you're here for glory, aren't you? I bet you think you're special."

     Achilles kept his eyes focused in front of him, looking completely calm, only Patroclus noticed how his jaw tightened as Agamemnon yelled in his face, getting his spit on him. 

    "Well, I've got news for you, you're not!" the general continued to yell. "None of you are worth anything. I am your head commander and you are my army. You are not men.  Not yet, but you will be. You will endure and train and, so help me God, by the time I'm through with you will be fit to call yourself a soilder of Her Majesty's Army! Brother, train these greenboys properly. I won't embarrass myself by riding into battle with silly boys on horses!" 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Achilles said nothing. Patroclus chewed on his lower lip watching him go through drills in complete silence. There was no boyish thrill in his eyes as the men practice marching in neat rows. All Patroclus could see was fury. Then Patroclus watched as that fury evolve into bitter distaste and then into a blank and distant expression. Patroclus couldn't focus on anything except for him. He could only imagine what was going through the boy's head. For his whole life Achilles had been able to charm everyone who met him. He was fantastic and radiant. He was the star that everyone made a wish on. But here he was just another boy in red. 

     Patroclus wanted to grab him and kiss him. He wanted to stroke his hair and tell him that he was better than that. He was better than what Agamemnon had made him seem. He was glorious. He was brilliant. He was Achilles. 

     But Patroclus said none of that. And how could he with so many eyes watching him?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "He was wrong you know," Patroclus told Achilles when they were safe in their room. Achilles shrugged out of his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of a chair. 

    "Who was?" he sighed. 

    "The general," Patroclus reminded him. Achilles let out another pained sigh.

    "It doesn't matter what he said. He just wanted to make himself seem macho. Show everyone who is the boss. He probably won't even remember who I am tomorrow," Achilles said miserably, pulling the tie out of his hair.

     "Achilles, it does matter because he was wrong," Patroclus said, holding Achilles' face between his hands. They were but inches apart. Patroclus could feel Achilles' warm breath on him as he sighed. 

     "About what?" he asked.

    "You are special. What you on that field today... I have never seen anything like that," Patroclus admitted. "It still amazes me that after all the time we spend together you can still surprise me." Achilles leaned his forehead against Patroclus'.

     "I'm soooo glad that you're here with me," he said. Patroclus rubbed his back.

    "You say it as though I could ever leave you." Patroclus held him in his arms, feeling the strength of Achilles' body against his own. 

      "I love you." Achilles whispered.

     "I love you, too," Patroclus cooed in reply.

     "Forever?"

     "Forever." 

     Achilles wrapped his hands around Patroclus' wrists and kissed him.  Patroclus kissed him back feeling himself float off of the ground. He crushed their lips together, tasting Achilles' smoothe skin. He bit into Achilles' bottom lip, gently grazing the delicate flesh with his teeth, feeling his trousers grow tight as he did so. Achilles pulled back, his breath heavy on Patroclus' skin. 

    "I should finish getting undressed," he murmured.

    "Of course," Patroclus said, his hands traveling down to lightly touch Achilles' belt buckle. "Let me help you."


	6. Chapter 6

    "Attention, company!" Menelaus boomed, placing himself between the front doors to the stable and the line of men awaiting the day's drills. "Your training with your horses will start today, so I want each of you to choose a horse. For efficiency purposes, I want small groups to come up at a time. If your last name begins with a letter between "A" and "D" come up." 

         About fifteen men stepped forward and disappeared into the stables. Patroclus willed himself not to jiggle his leg impatiently as he waited for his turn to go up. Menelaus continued through the alphabet, calling up more men and sending away more horses as he did so. 

    By the time Patroclus and Achilles stepped forward, one section of the stable had been completely cleared out, save for one horse. The horse was as black as clouds of thunder and radiated just as much power. His lean, muscled body was tense, looking over its stall door with a fierce look in his eyes as though willing someone to be brave enough to challenge him. 

    No wonder so many had passed up this horse. He looked like he would either love you or kill you in a second. Patroclus wouldn't have given him a second thought if Achilles hadn't been staring at the beast. Achilles held the horse's eyes as a tangible connection sparked between them. He walked towards the horse with his hand outstretched in front of him.

    "No, don't go near that one, it's a wild..." Menelaus began to warn, but immediately trailed off. The horse bowed his head and pushed his nose right into Achilles' hand. "... beast."

    The force of their gaze rippled throughout the stables. It was as though the fire of their spirits merged into a single flame, and it was all the other men in the stable could do to marvel at the bond that was already beginning to form between man and beast. 

    "I want this one," Achilles said into the silence. 

    Later that night, the dining hall buzzed with the sound of eager chatter and the slurping of soup. No one seemed to be able to talk about anything else besides their new horses and their aching thighs. The day's drills had definitely been the worst. Patroclus' legs were still raw from riding all day long. 

    "I'm going to name my horse Carmilia," Damon said dreamily, talking about his willowy, light brown mare.

    "It's a weapon not a pet, you're not supposed to name it," Antilochus cut in.

    "Well, why not? People name their swords," Patroclus  pointed out, taking a bit of bread.

     "That's true," Damon agreed.

     "No," Achilles said. "Antilochus is right. When you ride into the field with your horse, it becomes apart of you. You mold into one being. You wouldn't name your leg or your arm, so why would you name your horse?" 

     Patroclus chewed his bread and thought  about this. Achilles did make a good point, but Patroclus secretly named  his mare anyway.  

    She was chestnut brown with a thick, silky, black mane that fell over her shoulders. She had strong, powerful legs, but was gentle. During their drills, Patroclus had struggled climbing up on her but she was patient with him and by the end of the day Patroclus was able to mount her with ease. Before he had taken her back to the stabled, he had stroked her nose, resting his forehead in her soft fur. She was as soft as a light summer breeze and as gentle as a meadow.

     "That's what I'll call you," he had murmured into her fur. "Meadow."

    And though Achilles refused to give his horse a name, Patroclus had heard him call his horse the Night. The Night's ears would perk every time Achilles would whisper this to him, giving him courage. 

   The horses were cared for every morning and every night by faceless men. At first Patroclus went along with it but the more time he spent with Meadow the more possessive and protective he got of her. Spending time with her only during training wasn't enough. So he took to sneaking out of his room early in the morning or late at night to sit beside her. Sometimes he would find Achilles a few stables over, gazing silently at the Night. They never spoke. Voices would ruin the precious moments spent between man and beast. They would sit and watch the dawn in silence. 

     Riding became more and more natural. Not all of the other boys got it at first, but by the time the third week ended there were no more boys walking to dinner with a bow-legged gait and sore thighs. Patroclus felt his own body melt into Meadow while he rode, and he understood what Achilles had said about one's war horse becoming apart of you. 

     When Menelaus felt that they were ready, he began drills with wooden sabors. They practiced riding their horses and hitting straw targets shaped like men with the strokes Menelaus had taught them.  _ Slice: left ear to right shoulder. Thrust, turn, pull. Slice: right ear to left shoulder.  _ The drills and hollers echoed into Patroclus' ears every time he mounted his horse. 

     One sunny afternoon during drills Patroclus rode Meadow through the ocean of soft green grass, moving in a steady rhythm with his wooden sabor held high above his head, and knocked the head off of one of the straw targets.

     "Ha!" he called, glancing around excitedly, a huge smile on his face, trying to make sure someone else had seen that. After a day of barely hitting his mark, he managed to decapitate a dummy. No other soldier had done that. Patroclus saw Menelaus coming towards and his smile grew, but the sad look on Menelaus' face sobered him immediately. Menelaus picked up the head from the ground and began to roll it around in his hands.

     "Men," he called. The soldiers halted. Menelaus raised his voice, but kept his eyes on Patroclus. "What do you think would happen if you were riding your horse at 35 mph and swung your sabor at man's head? Huh? Maybe it would cut the head clean off. But maybe your sabor would snag on the thick neckbone of the unfortunate soul who is at the end of your sword which would pull you from your horse and onto the ground to get trampled. Battles cause fever. They can betwixt your mind the way no woman ever could. Some men never feel more alive than they do when they see red dripping from their blade. It brings out the animal in us and it clouds your brain. But you must remember the most important thing to take into battle is not your sword or even your skill; it's your wits. If you can think, then you can remember, slice: left ear to right shoulder. Thrust, turn, pull. Slice: right ear to left shoulder. These moves will save your life and win you glory. They last place to be a show off is on the battlefield. Forget that, you die. And you men are too good to die on my watch." He jammed the head back onto the dummy's body, "Do you hear me, cadet?" he asked looking at Patroclus directly. 

    "Yes, sir," Patroclus answered. 

     As the weeks pressed on training seemed to become more brutal. Days of poor sleep would catch up on Patroclus and he would find himself stumbling out of the stable every morning, yawning and rubbing his eyes, his body sore from the intense work out the day before. And he wasn't alone. Around him all the boys in red were like zombies mounted on their steeds. Menelaus would shout directions and telling them to liven up, but it was mostly in vain.

     "This is the authentic soldier experience," he would shout to them. "Do you think you'll be well rested the night before battle?"

     Only Achilles was the exception. Everyone's weakness just made him brighter. He rested on the Night alert and ready for everything. The desire for glory fueled him. He didn't need food or sleep, all he needed was a red coat and he could conquer the world. He became the apple Menelaus' eye. His prized pupil. His star. But to Patroclus' secret pleasure this star only shone for him. 

     Achilles was brilliant on the training field, but only when he was entangled in Patroclus' arms did he truly glow. Everyone stared at him in complete awe, wanting to be near him, but Achilles didn't see any of them. He only saw Patroclus with eyes spilling over with light. The training and lack of sleep were small prices to pay to be near something so divine. Alone in their room Patroclus didn't want to breath, he didn't want to stand. All he wanted was to feel Achilles' touch and his mouth all over his body. Patroclus still trembled under Achilles' lips, though it felt like he had spent a lifetime tasting them. 

     "What's you doing?" Patroclus asked, flopping down on his stomach next to Achilles on his bed. It was dark in their room, the only light coming from a tiny oil lamp which cast shadows along the walls.

     "I'm writing a letter to my father," Achilles answered, dipping his pen into an ink well.

     "Hmmm," Patroclus hummed, twirling a lock of Achilles' hair around his finger. 

    "I'm telling him about training. You, know the horses and the drills"

    "The late nights and early mornings?"

    "Of course," Achilles said. He reached for the tiny musket ball which lay beside the letter he was writing. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. "I just want him to be proud of me."

     "I'm sure he already is," Patroclus reassured. Achilles gave him a sweet smile. "And I'm sure Lt. Atrides would agree."

    "What do you mean?" Achilles asked with a tiny giggle.

     "You can't tell me you don't see how much he adores you."

    "I've noticed. I wrote about him too. Hey, Patroclus?"

    "Yeah?"

    "Do you remember, years ago, when we chased down that huge man and met him in that coffee shop?"

   "Yeah, Chiron."

   "That was his name," Achilles said as if it had been bothering him. "Lt. Atrides reminds me of him a little."

   Patroclus considered this for a moment. "You now, you're right. He does."

    "He just genuinely seems to care." 

    Patroclus nodded in agreement. "He's good too. We've come a long way. I had never even seen a musket before we came here but now I can almost hit the bull's eye of a target."

     "Yeah. You know, I've noticed Colonel Laertiades hanging around while we've been training. Do you think he's evaluating us?"

     "Probably," Patroclus responded feeling a little self-conscious. He hadn't noticed that they were being watched. 

     "Soon we'll be soldiers," Achilles said with a shrug. "In no time we'll be shipped off to war."

     "Yeah," Patroclus laughed uneasily. He wrapped his arms around himself and rolled onto his back, staring up at the cream colored ceiling. He let out a shaky breath and tried to focus on the sound of Achilles' pen strokes. The last thing he wanted to think about was the imminent doom that shadowed over every soldier's head. The thought of being shipped off to war, but never coming back. 


	7. Chapter 7

     "One, two, three four. One, two, three, four. Turn, two three, four," Menelaus counted as the boys practiced marching their horses in a line. 

    "Oh, my God my grandmother walks faster than this," Antilochus complained beside Patroclus. 

    "That's it soilders. Now..." Menelaus trialed off,seeing something in the distance. Patroclus followed Menelaus' gaze to see Agamemnon standing beside at the edge of the estate. That was odd. Patroclus didn't think that he was coming back until the end of their training. They still had two weeks to go. "That's it for the day, boys!"

     "Yes, sir," a field full of voices shouted back in response. Patroclus didn't move as he watched Menelaus greet his brother. Something was wrong. 

     Patroclus waved off the man who tried to take Meadow at the stables and walked his horse over to her stall himself. She followed him compliantly and stood still as he stripped off her saddle and hung up her reins. 

     "What's going on," Antilochus asked, popping up behind Patroclus as he was messaging Meadow's gums.

     "I don't know."

    "We never leave drills this early. It's barely noon," Damon added. Patroclus hadn't seen him sneak up.

    "Well, if you find anything out, let us know," Antilochus said, turning to leave.

     "Wait for me!" Damon called racing after Antilochus.

     Patroclus turned his attention back to Meadow. He could hear whispers and rumors already starting to form. He tuned out the voices. The soldiers departed and the only ones left in the stables were the faceless men and then they left, leaving just Patroclus. He took his sweet time brushing out Meadow's dark coat and whispering to her what a pretty girl she was. She stood lazily as Patroclus pampered her, loving the feeling of the bristles of the brush against her back. Everytime he would stop she would nuzzle his neck with her nose and he would laugh.

     "Okay, okay," he said, moving the brush from her legs back to her back. When he finished he set the brush aside and filled her trough with oats which she gingerly began to nibble at. 

     Patroclus slipped out of her stall and headed down to the far end of the stable were a big barrel of water was waiting. He rubbed his hands covered in horsehair and oats onto his trousers and peered inside the barrel. Empty. He looked back to see Meadow peeking her head out of her stall, looking at him expectantly. 

     "It's empty," he informed her. "What can I do?" She  snorted at him and shook her head. He smiled. "All right."

    He went back over to her stall and hooked the reins back up around her mouth and led her out of the stables. He was pretty sure this was breaking some kind of rule, but she needed water and she hated being cramped up in her stall. 

      He led Meadow towards a stream that ran behind the estate, hugging close to the mansion's walls. As he moved closer to the bend in the stream he could hear excited voices coming from the open window of the general's room. He looked around at the empty field before him. He should walk away. Eavesdropping was rude. But he found himself walking Meadow to the part of the stream directly below the general's window and strained his ears to listen. 

     "... absolutely not," Menelaus' voice bellowed from inside. Patroclus could see the silhouettes of three men in the room standing around a table all facing one another. 

    "War has been declared, do you understand what that means, brother?" Agamemnon's voice rang hotly. Patroclus' jaw dropped. War had been declared? Since when? He leaned in closer to the window.

    "There are cavalry regiments that have been training for years," Menelaus snapped. "Why don't you send them into the war."

    "It's all apart of the plan," Agamemnon said. "We'll send in the fresh recruits and let them handle the Russian forces. If it proves to be too much for them, we'll send in the more experienced troops."

    "You've got to be kidding me," Menelaus exclaimed. "You're going to send them out to die?"

     "Oh, they've been training for ten weeks they should be fine," Agamemnon said, waving his hand. 

     "That doesn't mean they're ready," Menelaus said through what sounded like gritted teeth. 

     "In all fairness," a third voice butted in, "you could train a man forever but he'll never be ready for battle."

      "Colonel Laertides is right," Agamemnon agreed. "I say the best training is hands on and on the field."

     "That's also the best way to kill two-hundred boys under the age of twenty-one. You can't possibly be serious."

     "Oh, I am. We're all hands on deck now. Especially the cavalry."

    "Menelaus, don't sell yourself short. I've seen these boys train. They're not as bad as you put," Odysseus pipped in. 

     "I've had enough of this," Menelaus declared heading out of the room. Patroclus heard the door slam. 

     He stood, dazed. When he felt his brain begin to work again he walked Meadow back to her stall, staring at his feet the whole way. Meadow must have sensed his anxiety because when he shut her stall door and was getting ready to leave, she nuzzled her soft nose into his neck. He leaned against her strong, maternal face and let the news sink in. They were going off to war. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Patroclus wasn't even surprised when training had been cancelled the next morning. Instead of going to the field after breakfast the soldiers stood in the dining hall as Agamemnon and the other officers made their way to the dias. The boys looked around groggy and confused at the sudden change. Only Patroclus knew what was going on. He hadn't bothered telling Achilles or anyone else. What would have been the point? They were all going to find out soon enough. 

     The officers settled. Menelaus in front while Agamemnon and Odysseus stood silently off to the side, watching the scene unfold around them with slight disinterest. Menelaus took a step forward. The boys all looked at him, ready for him to take command. He just watched them all quietly with a sad look until all was settled. 

     "Listen here, boys," he called out to them. "Today I am to tell you that your hard work has been rewarded. You are all trained and capable soldiers. Pack your bags because you're heading off to war." Murmurs immediately began to ripple throughout the crowd. "You all have been selected to be the light cavalry troops sent off to Russia." Another ripple of murmurs. "Now, I know this seems sudden, but believe me I wouldn't have let you go unless I thought you were all ready. And you are. You came here as boys, but you will be sent away as men."


	8. Chapter 8

    Patroclus didn't know why the news had dazed him so much. He knew they were leaving. Hadn't he made peace with that the night before? Well, if  "making peace" involved a long troubled night of tossing and turning, then he had. But it was real now. There was no going back. They were heading to Russia. Russia! All the horrible stories and stereotypes played back and forth in Patroclus' mind. Of course they couldn't all be true. They were all probably lies, but his brain wasn't working right.

    "He lied you know," Patroclus told Achilles when they were back in their room, packing up their belongings.

    "Who?"

    "Lt. Atrides. He told us he wouldn't have let us get sent out unless he thought we were ready. But were not ready. He said so himself."

    "When did he say this?' Achilles asked gently, reaching out to hold Patroclus' hands. They were shaking. 

     "Yesterday. I heard him talking with the other commanders in the general's room. He said we weren't ready, but they told him Russia declared war." Achilles nodded seriously and pulled Patroclus' trembling body towards him.

   "It's okay," he reassured. "You're okay. My father told me most men that get sent out don't even see battle."

    "But we're going to Russia."

    "We'll go and we'll get our feet cold, but we'll be okay," Achilles murmured into Patroclus' hair. Patroclus nodded.

    "You're right," he said pulling back, his voice shaky. Achilles gave him a watery smile. He ran his thumb along side Patroclus' jaw and leaned down to give him a light peck. Patroclus let out a soft whimper. 

     "We should pack up," Achilles said. Patroclus nodded and took in a deep breath before returning to his bag. He put in all of his belongings, leaving the musket ball out. He stared at the dull gray piece of metal, rolling it between his fingers before tucking it into the pocket of his red coat. 

     "We're going home!" Antilochus shouted, bursting into their room. Patroclus jumped.

    "What?" he asked.

   "Weren't you listening? We're get to go home until we ship off two days," Antilochus informed. Patroclus' face brightened. 

   "Really!"

   "Yes, really."

    "But it'll take hours to get home, and hours to get back to get back. That hardly gives us a day."

    Antilochus sighed. "We have less than that. We have to be back at the barracks by morning so we can set sail."

    "Then we only have one night to be at home?"

     "Most are staying here for a party." 

    Patroclus sighed.

    "Well, one night is better than nothing," Achilles pointed out. 

    "You're right," Patroclus agreed.  Home. That sounded pretty good right now. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Patroclus felt his eyes well up with tears as he stood in the front yard of the tiny house he called home. Home. It looked exactly the same. But do homes really change? It's the one thing that remains constant in life. The preservation of childhood and youth. Patroclus headed up the walkway lined with the same blue flowers and through the same maroon door that was in desperate need of paint. It was like walking into a memory.

     "Father," Achilles called as he slowly pushed open the front door. They heard feet scrambling and then heard the door to Peleus' study swing open.

     "Achilles," he cried when he laid misty eyes on his son. 

    "We're home," Achilles told him, his voice hitching a little. His father charged down the hall leading to the front door and embraced him, letting out a happy sob. 

    "I can't believe this," he said, stroking his son's hair. 

    "Did I hear..." Thetis' voice rang out as she stepped into the hall. "Achilles." 

    Like father, his mother came and took her son into her arms. Patroclus stepped back, walking backwards towards his old room, holding the perfect picture of the reunited family in his eyes.

    "I didn't think you'd be home for another few week," his father said. 

    "I know, but we're leaving tomorrow," Achilles tried to tell him.

    "Leaving where?" Thetis asked, ice in her tone.

    "Russia."

    "That's outrageous! You're far too young."

    "Mother, please," Achilles was telling her as Patroclus shut the door to his room, blocking out the sound. The bedroom was just how they left it. Patroclus walked over to the wall of drawings and admired each one of them, calling back the memories that each picture held. Why is it that they seemed to have happen a million years ago? He let out a sigh and sat down at the foot of his bed. The soft mattress felt like heaven when compared to the stiff bed he'd been sleeping on.

     Outside the door he could hear the muffled sounds of voices, though he didn't try to make out the words. Achilles was his home. With him, Patroclus never felt like an outsider. Never felt like a third wheel. And he never missed anything. But he would be lying if he didn't admit that having a happy family embrace you when you came home would be nice. Inside his bag he felt for his mother's ribbon. He didn't even remember what she looked like now. 

     The door creaked open and Peleus peeked his head inside. Patroclus looked up and gave him a tiny smile.

    "Oh, my boy," Peleus cried, holding his arms out. He pulled Patroclus into a deep embrace. "How I've missed you."

    "I've missed you, too," Patroclus assured.

    "I get so lonely here all by myself," Peleus admitted, letting go of Patroclus and taking a seat beside him.

    "You have Thetis."

     Pelues snorted. "I might as well be alone. So, how have you been?" 

    "Good."

    "How are you right now?" 

    Patroclus considered this for a moment. "Nervous."

    "Me too," Peleus told him, nudging him with his elbow. "But you'll be fine. All of Russia will feel my wrath if you come back otherwise." Patroclus chuckled to himself. Peleus grew somber and looked down at his lap. "Just promise me you'll be safe." 

    "Promise," Patroclus assured. 

    "And promise you'll look out for my boy," Peleus said.

    "I won't let him out of my sight."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Patroclus stood at the base of the old treehouse, staring up at the rotted wood and the sky. He let out a long, slow sigh. 

    "What's up?" Achilles asked, walking up behind him. Patroclus gave him a watery smile. 

    "This is where we had our first kiss," Patroclus recalled. 

    "I remember," Achilles told him. Patroclus swallowed hard. 

    "This is also where you told me that you were going to enlist," Patroclus reminded him. 

    "I remember that, too," Achilles said quietly. Patroclus took in a shaky breath. 

    "We always say that we'll have forever together, but it feels like we're alway on a time table. Like we're always being rushed towards a goal. Enlisting, training, Russia," Patroclus choked out. Achilles grabbed his hand and caressed the other large warm hand over Patroclus' soft cheek. Patroclus leaned into the touch. "I just don't understand how you're not scared."

    "It doesn't matter where we are, here or Russia, as long as we're together there's nothing to be afraid of," Achilles said gently. "And come on, how can anyone put a time limit on forever."  

     "What is forever anyway?" Patroclus asked. Achilles tilted Patroclus' chin up so that he was forced to look into his fiery eyes.

    "It's us. Together. It's this moment," Achilles answered. Patroclus felt his insides warm and fell forward, leaning his forehead against Achilles'.

     "I just wish we could live in the present instead of in the future," he whispered. 

    "I wish we could live in the past," Achilles admitted. "It was simpler then." Patroclus looked up into Achilles' emerald eyes. "But that's impossible." He let out a sigh.

    "Maybe we could visit the past though," Patroclus suggested. "I mean, we're home. We could at least pretend." Achilles smiled at him.

    "I'd like that," he said.

    "Let's go inside."


	9. Chapter 9

      The arms of his feathered mattress and the soft embrace of his comforter were almost too enticing to leave. Yet, when the sun's rays licked Patroclus' face he grudgingly crawled out of bed. Achilles the early bird was already ready and packed to go. Patroclus rubbed his eyes.

    "Why are you always up so early?" he asked, letting out a long yawn. 

       "I like watching you sleep," Achilles told him. Patroclus shook his head at him.

    "Creepy," he breathed out. Achilles smiled. 

    Patroclus hadn't unpacked anything the night before so all he really had to do to get ready was dress and make his bed. He cracked his back and got to it, barely noticing Achilles watch him as he did so. 

    "So, how'd you sleep last night?" Patroclus asked him. 

    "Well. How did you?"

    "I had a nightmare," Patroclus told him.

    "About what?"

    "Drowning." Achilles thought about this for a second. 

    "Never been on a boat before, huh?" he asked. Patroclus shook his head.

    "You?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. 

    "No." Silence fell in the room as Patroclus finished tucking in the corners of his comforter. 

        They headed into the kitchen where a breakfast was already laid out for them. It was nerve wracking to be dining with Thetis at the same table. She usually ate alone in her room, but not today. She sipped her tea which everyone knew was spiked with brandy and glared at Patroclus. He knew what she was trying to tell him with her cold eyes.  _ If my son doesn't come back, you better not come back either.  _

    Patroclus wanted to tell her not to worry. He wanted to tell her there would be no him without Achilles. Without Achilles the world would stop turning and shatter.  _ Your son is my world. He's my everything,  _ Patroclus tried to tell Thetis with his own eyes. He didn't know if she understood him or not. 

       When the carriage pulled up, Thetis was the first one inside. She insisted on going to the port with Peleus to see her son and his  _ little friend  _ off. Patroclus was barely able to handle sitting across from her at the breakfast table, a whole day in a carriage with her would kill him for sure. He tried to keep his eyes trained on the city, then the country rolling past the window. But the whole time he could feel Thetis slowly peeling him apart piece by piece with her glower.  _ My son is divine and you are nothing but a mortal. What makes you think you are worthy of him? _

_      I ask myself that question every day,  _ Patroclus thought back.  _ But for some reason he loves me. And as long as he loves me I will be by his side. _

_     You'll only slow him down. His destiny is far brighter than you can even stomach,  _ she said bitterly with her eyes.

_    I'll learn to run faster to keep him from slowing. And I'll burn in his presence if that means being close to him,  _ Patroclus shot back. Achilles sat silently next to his mother, completely unaware of the hostile battle that was taking place. 

    It was a relief when the army barracks came into view. Patroclus and Achilles left the carriage, leaving Peleus and Thetis to travel alone to the dock. They went directly to the stables to to mount their horses. 

     People were already beginning to clog the streets. Sending men off to war was no small event. Marching to a ship was not something that could be done simply but had to be turned into a huge spectacle. 

    The soldiers decorated themselves in their uniforms and rode their sleek horses through the street as flowers were thrown at their feet. They had practiced marching like this a million times before. It gave the effect of a coordinated, disciplined army. That's what everyone wanted to see. Not individual men, but a unit. Serve and protect. God save the Queen! 

    Some women waved handkerchiefs at the men that passed. Children ran up along the soldiers cheering them on as they went. The applause from the crowd made some men sit straighter. It only made Patroclus more nauseous. War was just a show for these people. 

     They could smell the sea before they reached it. It was a salty and pungent smell. A large pair of white sails appeared in the distance looking like square clouds up against the blue sky. Patroclus stared in awe as the actual ship came into view. It was huge. Patroclus thought he had seen a ship like this before, back when he was still a young boy, but he really wasn't sure. Memories could play tricks on you. 

      Patroclus spotted Peleus and Thetis immediately in the crowd. Peleus was standing silently amongst the chaos, watching as the soldiers rode before him. Patroclus turned just in time to get a final glare from Thetis, though he couldn't be sure if she was glaring at him or the ship that was going to take her son from her. 

    The  _ H.MS. Destiny  _ the side read, painted in gold on the fading wood. Meadow mounted the platform leading up to the ship which was crawling in sailors dressed in blue jackets. All around the deck there was busy work being done. Ropes being pulled and tied off, floors being scrubbed. Aboard the ship Patroclus was pushed around in the chaos like a leaf on a windy day. Some men came and took Meadow to the stables at the very bottom of the ship. Patroclus let them. He shouldered past the crowd to stand beside Achilles along the rails. Around them were the other men waving good-bye to their families and home town. Goodbye Britain. Who knows if we'll ever meet again. 

    Patroclus clutched the rails as the ship began to pull out. Despite himself he laughed as they began to move. The water churned beneath the ship as the hull cut through it and Patroclus tilted his head back and let the water spray him. Sailing was like nothing else in the world. If you focused on one spot in the sky, it was almost like flying. 

    As land began to fade from sight, the soldiers began to lose interest and dispersed around the ship, some remaining on deck to mull around. But Patroclus stayed where he was. He glanced over at Achilles beside him and noticed the same gleam the boy's eyes that he had saw when they had first met. That innocent wonder and excitement. Patroclus wondered if it would be possible to fall in love with this boy all over again.

    "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Patroclus remarked, looking out at the clear blue waters.

    "I could look at it for hours," Achilles told him, not taking his eyes from the vast sea that stretched in front of them. The water rippled and glistened under the sun. It didn't even look real. It was almost like someone pasted shards of glass all over the water to create a swirling mosaic. Stunning. There was no other word to describe it. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    The design of the ship was both simple and unoriginal. Very military. It was divided into neat squares for convenience. The bottom of the ship was cut in half. The left half consisted of the stables which were manned 24/7 by bored looking stable boys. The right half was a storage space which stored barrels of food, water, and ammunition. On the upper levels the captains and generals had special cabins reserved for them towards the front of the ship, but the rest of the soldiers were assigned to stay in one long room furnished only with rows of hammocks. Antilochus nearly had a heart attack when he saw the sleeping arrangements.

    "You've got to be kidding me," he had said, eyes bulging in horror at the tight living corridors.

    They spent three weeks cruising over the ocean on the titanic ship. They sailed along the coast of France, through the Strait of Gibraltar, across the Mediterranean and cut into the Black Sea to a port in Crimea. 

     While on the ship, Patroclus spent most of his time leaning over the rail vomiting into the churning ocean below. 

    “Careful, don’t hit the porpoise,” Achilles had said to him one day, rubbing his hand in small circles over Patroclus' lower back. “Oh, and you hit it. Poor thing.”

    The reek of vomit and unwashed men were the strongest memories Patroclus had of the ship. The days seemed especially long at sea. It was as though the sun stayed in place longer than usually so that the sea could soak up her rays and see her smile. It made the men restless. The lure of the sea had faded away quickly. The men were no longer dazzled by the shine of the ocean, but sick of it. Idleness did not become a soldier. 

     Patroclus felt restless, too. Though, not for the same reasons. Sometimes at night he would lay awake listening to the creak of the hammocks and the gurgling snores of the men and panic would seize him. An overwhelming feeling would sneak inside of his chest and twist and squirm around. The ship was supposed to be a break. A peaceful and well needed transition between the labor of training and the dangers of war. But Patroclus couldn't escape the feeling that it was the lull before the storm. 


	10. Chapter 10

Patroclus' legs felt like jelly. He gripped Meadow's leather rein tightly, not so much to steer her as to keep himself steady. He couldn't believe it when he had final spotted land on the horizon. It had to have been a mirage or trick of the light. But now here he was, standing steady atop of the splintered dock staring at Crimea. 

Patroclus looked at Achilles through the corner of his eye. He saw the gleam in the other boy's eyes. They had made it. 

Crimea wasn't exactly like Patroclus had imagined it to be. When he thought of Russia, he thought of knee high snow and ice, but the ground was only sprinkled with an icy touch of frost. The grass crunched under his feet as he trekked through the town. There were red coats weaving through the exhausted houses and buildings that lined the dirt road. 

Patroclus squeezed his hands into fists to warm the tips of his fingers. It wasn't that cold, but the chill was enough to numb his fingers and turn his cheeks red. 

"What are you thinking?" Patroclus asked, not taking his eyes off of the road in front of him. 

"I was thinking that I need to stretch my legs. Let's explore," Achilles said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Explore? In a country that we're in war with?" Patroclus asked, lifting a brow.  
"Well, when you put it that way," Achilles said, rolling his eyes, the smile still on his lips. "I just need to do something. I've been cooped up for too long."

"I know, I know," Patroclus told him. He lowered his voice, "that's why I think we should go exploring." Achilles let out a tiny giggle.

"Okay," he almost whispered.

Patroclus glanced around them. There were soldiers everywhere. Between the H.M.S Destiny and the ships that docked before, there seemed to be more red in the town than anything else. The officers had already claimed the post office to be their headquarters and were already mapping out strategies, leaving the soldiers to their own devices. 

Red coats flocked around the taverns and brothels. Amongst them Patroclus spotted some of the defeated and sullen locals brushing through the crowd, looking as though they wished to be anywhere but there. Patroclus pressed his cheek to Meadow's muzzle and looked down at his feet. 

"Let's get out of town," he said to Achilles. 

They walked along the frozen dirt road until the town was left behind them. The solitude was freeing. 

"It feels good to be alone again," Achilles said.

"Yeah."

They fell into silence. Enjoying only each other's company and the sounds of their feet on the frozen ground. They walked their horses to a pond that lay nestled in a tiny pocket of forest. The horses drank gratefully from the frigid water.

"What are you doing?" Patroclus asked Achilles who was bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

"I just need to run," Achilles admitted. "Need to stretch my muscles."

"Then run," Patroclus told him. "I'll wait here for you." Achilles beamed and took off like a rocket. 

Patroclus could never tire of watching him run. Achilles didn't look like a runner. He looked like a dancer. His long legs leaped as gracefully as a ballerina's. It was almost impossible to be that elegant. His feet molded to the unfamiliar terrain as though he had been running there his whole life. Patroclus closed his eyes and let the sound of Achilles' feet carry him away.

The sun was hanging low in the sky before they decided to head back into town. Their feet scuffed against the dirt as they walked, looking for a house to stay for the night. The town was beginning to settle. The locals had hidden themselves away in their homes and the taverns were beginning to empty. A group of soldiers stumbled out from one of the taverns in a giggling herd led by Antilochus. Antilochus brightened when he saw Patroclus and Achilles walk by.

"Hey, guys," Antilochus called with a high pitched voice, waving them over. Patroclus and Achilles exchanged glances but didn't move. Antilochus came stumbling over. He threw his arm around Patroclus' shoulder. "Guys, me and all of my friends from the bar are gonna be playing a game of dominos and we need a sixth player. So, which one of you is going to play with us?"

"I thought gambling was against the rules," Patroclus pointed out, shrugging Antilochus' arm off of him. Antilochus snorted.

"Rules shmules. Come play. Achilles please," he begged. Achilles lifted a brow but said nothing. "Patroclus, come on."

"I really don't know how to play," Patroclus admitted. 

"It's fine. I'll teach you."

"I'm kind of tired right now."

"Then we'll play tomorrow."

"I don't really-"

"Come onnnnn," Antilochus moaned.

"Fine," Patroclus sighed. "Tomorrow."

"Great," Antilochus said, patting Patroclus on the back. "Don't you forget."

"I won't," Patroclus assured as Antilochus stumbled off to meet his friends.

"Now, which one of you owes me money," Patroclus heard Antilochus say before he and Achilles turned and left.

"You're such a pushover," Achilles told Patroclus when Antilochus was out of earshot. Patroclus rolled his eyes, spotting a tired house settled near the outskirts of town.

"We should stay in that house," Patroclus said, changing the conversation.

"All right," Achilles said, steering his horse to the left. They tied off their horses to pen nearby and headed over to the house. It was unpainted and to be honest looked like it might be haunted. The boys climbed the sagging front steps and Achilles pounded his fist against the front door. 

"It feels a little weird, you know, having to stay in a stranger's house," Patroclus said, leaning against the door frame.

"You had no problem staying with me," Achilles teased. Patroclus blushed.

"That's different. I came to live with you when I was eleven and had nowhere else to go." 

Achilles chuckled and knocked on the door a little harder. The door swung open and a large old woman stepped out. 

"Whoa," Achilles mumble, taking a step back. The woman's face was red and angry, but she didn't say anything, she only glared with cold black eyes.

"Uh, we are requesting lodging for the night," Achilles said, clearing his throat. She looked like she wanted to yell. Like she wanted to scream at them to leave her and her home alone. But she didn't. She opened the door wider and grudgingly let them inside. 

Patroclus bowed his head respectfully as he passed her, but it did not lessen the plain hatred in her eyes. He couldn't blame her. She had to house the same soldiers sent to destroy her homeland and people. Patroclus couldn't imagine what that must feel like.

They hid from the angry woman in a room at the top of a flight of stairs. The room looked just as haunted as the rest of the house. It was a parsley furnished and covered by a thin line of dust. Patroclus squatted down. On the floor there was a neat line of tiny tin soldiers dressed and ready for a battle that they would never fight. They just stood ready and forgotten, staring at their enemy. Patroclus glanced around the room. It was a child's room. But where was the child? Was he a man now off to fight in war? Patroclus stood up. Maybe it would better if he didn't know. 

The most charming feature of the room was a large French door which led to a small balcony. Patroclus walked onto the balcony over to where Achilles was leaning on the rails taking in the night. It was one of those still nights where the glow from the stars and moon fought away all of the darkness. 

"Hey," Patroclus said, coming up beside Achilles. 

"Hey," Achilles said in response. He took in a deep breath. "I still can't believe it."

"What?"

"All of this. Patroclus, we did it. We're in Russia. Can't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"We now have everything we've ever wanted."

"Of course," Patroclus said. He didn't bother to mention that out of the million things that he wanted, being a soldier wasn't one of them. 

They fell silent staring out into the black forest that stretched out in front of them. The stars above were like needle holes poked into the black canvas of night, spilling the light from the heavens down over the whole world. Their light was distant, yet Patroclus could feel their warmth. 

"God, this is a beautiful night," Achilles said after a while, tilting his head up to allow the starlight to splash over his peaceful face. Patroclus' turned up his own eyes, looking through his long black lashes to see the night sky above him. On nights this clear, it was like you could see the whole universe. 

"Do you believe in fate?" Patroclus asked, his eyes turning down to Achilles' exposed white throat. Achilles turned his head down and it was like Patroclus' was staring into the smiling face of an angel. 

"Aren't I supposed to?" Achilles asked. "If it wasn't for fate wouldn't we all just be wandering through the darkness, trying not to bump into each other?"

"That's what they say," Patroclus answered. Achilles shook his head. 

"Not everything can be charted. Nor should it be. What would be the point of living if everything was all mapped out?" he asked. Patroclus considered this for a moment. 

"I guess it's just comforting, you know. To have a plan," he said at last. Achilles face grew grave.

"Out here there is no map, no North star, no plan. If we really do have a destiny the universe hasn't bothered to share it with us. It's almost like cheating. Like the universe has this big secret called Fate and won't share it with any of us. I think it's more frustrating than comforting," he admitted. 

"I never really thought about it that way," Patroclus mused. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" Achilles asked softly, a glimpse of a smile returning to his lips.

"You can tell me anything." 

Achilles clasped Patroclus' hands with his own and brought them to his breast. 

"On moments like this I believe in Fate," he whispered. "It's like the universe conspired to push us together so we could be standing right here, just like this. There's no way it was an accident, me finding you. I could never be that lucky."

"Oh, Achilles," Patroclus breathed out. "I don't think even the universe could keep me from you."

"God, I love you," Achilles almost whimpered.

"I love you, too."

"Forever?"

"Forever," Patroclus promised. Achilles leaned forward and kissed him, hard. Patroclus trembled under his wet mouth. 

"I only wish forever was longer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patroclus was admittedly nervous standing in front of the tavern door, his hand half raise to knock, ready to play dominos. It's not like Antilochus made Patroclus nervous. It was just he had always been uncomfortable in large groups. Especially large groups of strangers. Maybe he should rethink this game of dominos. He hadn't even want to play in the first place.

He glanced around looking for a means of escape when he noticed a red headed soldier sneaking out of one of the buildings. Strange, Patroclus thought. He recognized the soldier from the ship. Patroclus thought his name was Meriones. Meriones was a young soldier, to be honest he looked too young to be in the army. And he was extremely shy. Patroclus remembered that he used to shift awkwardly if anyone looked at him directly. But there was something else about him. Patroclus could never figure out what, but there was something very odd about the boy.

Patroclus cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what the boy had been doing in the building when the tavern door swung open. 

"Hey, there you are," Antilochus said. "I was just about to go out and look for you."

"Heyyyy," Patroclus said, suddenly annoyed with himself for not escaping when he had the chance. 

"Come on in," Antilochus said, wrapping his arm around Patroclus' shoulders. He led Patroclus to a table inside the tavern where four men were already sitting, sorting through a pile of dominos. 

"We've got our sixth player," Antilochus announced, sitting Patroclus down next to a dark haired man with piercing blue eyes. "Patroclus, you already know Damon. And as for the rest, well, it really doesn't matter if you know their names. Let's play."

Antilochus raked all of the dominos into a pile in front of him and handed each player seven pieces. Patroclus looked down at the small pile of dominos in his right hand. He really had no idea how to play. He was more of a dice man. 

Antilochus placed down a domino that was half three and half six onto the center of the table. To the right of him, a man with a scar on his chin looked around at each of the players with slit eyes and placed a domino that was half three and half two. By the time it was Patroclus' turn he felt as though he had a general idea of how to play and placed down one of his dominos. 

As the game continued, the air genuinely began to lighten up. The players became less focused on the game and more focused on whatever they were laughing about instead. Patroclus felt out of sorts sitting amongst these men. Of course he had been friends with Damon and Antilochus all of his life, but Achilles was the only one he had ever really felt close to. Whenever he would talk to Achilles, it was always about something deep. The mysteries of the universe or their dreams. But he had a feeling that amongst this group of men, such conversations would be mocked. They all joked and teased and Patroclus wasn't really sure how to joke and tease with them. 

"If I could have anything in the whole world right now it would be a large chocolate cake as big as my face just for me," a man with a beauty mark under his eye said.

"Ooh, or a cheese cake dribbled with chocolate sauce," Damon mused dreamily.

"I tell you," said the man with the scar, "there is only one thing in this world a man need and that's the wet spot between a woman's legs. Mmhmm, I remember my first like it was yesterday. Ashley was her name. And she had the biggest eyes I had ever seen. Even bigger than Patroclus'." Patroclus turned his large owl eyes down so he was looking at his lap.

"Um, thanks," he muttered. 

"For me," Beauty Mark began, "it was this prissy little thing from next door. She looked so proper, but believe me she was wild. Worst day of my life when she moved away."

“To bad you spoiled her for any other man,” Blue Eyes commented. “She’ll never find a husband now.”

“Are you crazy?” Beauty Mark laughed. “I found her as soon as I made enough money and put a ring on her. I’d be a fool to let that one go. Been married for three years!” 

“What a sweet story,” Antilochus said. “I can see you now, cradling your grandchildren telling them your wife was such a good lay that you had to marry her.”

“Hey, don’t you be talking about my wife like that,” Beauty Mark warned. “But it really is so much more than that. She had stolen my heart the first time she stole my money in poker. What a woman.” 

“I know what you mean,” Damon said. “Except, Carmilia never beat me in poker and we’re saving ourselves for marriage. But other than that, I totally get it.” 

"Oh my God. Damon, if you talk about Carmila one more time I will kick you out of here. I'm serious this time," Antilochus said.

"I just really miss her," Damon whined. 

"We've all been there," Beauty Mark said, patting Damon on the knee.

“Well anyway," Antilochus cut in, "my story is hardly that sentimental. My father took me to a brothel when I was fourteen and told me to be a man. So I was.”

“How about you Patroclus?” Scarred Chin asked. Patroclus’ eyes grew wide and he could feel his face flush.

“Well, um...” he tried. He racked his brain. He didn't even know any girls and the only one he had ever been with was Achilles. Somehow he imagined the men at the table did not want to hear that story. "Umm."

“When it comes to woman, Patroclus isn’t exactly what you would call ‘experienced’,” Antilochus quickly cut in. Patroclus flashed him a grateful smile which Antilochus answered with a knowing wink.

“Well, don’t worry,” Scarred Chin assured. “You’ll find yourself a woman soon enough.”

“How about those Russian woman? What do you think they’re like?” Antilochus asked to change the subject.

“Probably covered in fur to keep themselves warm,” Beauty Mark laughed.

“Not at all,” Blue Eyes cut in defensively. “My grandfather was a journalist and he used to travel the world writing. I remember when I was young he told me about a Russian ballet that he saw. He told me of this raven haired beauty that danced as the lead and he swears that they linked eyes while she danced. Though he never saw her again, he insisted until the day that he died that she was the love of his life. That’s what I’m going to find here. A beautiful ice princess.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about the ice,” Scarred Chin pointed out. “Because it's so cold here the trees themselves have to wear jackets to keep from freezing to death.”

The men rattled on and Patroclus grew quieter and quieter listening to them talk, until he deemed it polite to excuse himself from the table. A wave of relief washed over him as he climbed the stairs to the angry woman's house and fell into bed beside Achilles. His body seemed to uncoil as he drifted off to sleep.

That night a strange dream played out in his mind. He was with Scarred Chin and they were standing in a brothel where a group of painted girls were sitting around dressed in silk and lace.

“Told you we’d find you a woman,” Scarred Chin said, slapping Patroclus on the back. “Don’t be shy, pick one out. Be a man.”

Patroclus scanned the delicate fresh faces of the girls lounging around the brothel, gulping hard. His stomach twisted and turned until he layed eyes on one girl who calmed him completely. She was dressed in an elegant blue robe and veil which exposed only her green eyes. Patroclus fell in love with those eyes as soon as he saw them. 

“You’re the only one I want,” he told the girl. She slowly removed her veil to expose Achilles' smiling face. “Achilles? What on Earth are you doing dressed like a woman?”

“I just wanted to see if you could find me,” Achilles said, his smile widening. “And you did.”

“As if any disguise could hide you from me,” Patroclus told him. Achilles reached out and stroked his cheek.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, slipping off his robe. Underneath, Achilles was wearing a simple pair of trousers and his favorite sweater that he had worn so much when they were kids the color had faded from red to rusty orange. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Patroclus asked as Achilles pulled aside a sash that hung over the threshold to another room. 

“Off to battle, where do you think?” Achilles asked, the smile still painted on his face. Patroclus grabbed his arm. 

“You can’t go. What if I lose you?”

“I know you’ll find me again,” Achilles said, stepping through the threshold.

“Wait,” Patroclus called running after him. 

Suddenly they weren’t in a brothel anymore, but instead on the training field back in London. Patroclus looked around. It was still as green and busy as it was when they had left. Patroclus heard loud booming steps and turned to see a soldier dressed in red coming towards them. Patroclus squinted to get a better look at him. As he neared them, Patroclus’ eyes widened. It was Achilles marching towards them. Only this Achilles was different. He had black eyes and claws. 

“You can’t fight him,” Patroclus told Achilles. 

“Sure I can. You’re here with me, you know I’ll win,” Achilles assured.

“But I’m scared.”

“Make me a promise,” Achilles said, turning to face Patroclus. Demon Achilles was marching closer, Patroclus felt his chest squeeze with apprehension.

“Okay,” he said.

“If I lose to him, promise you’ll find me.”

“I thought you couldn’t lose,” Patroclus pointed out. 

“Patroclus, promise that if I get lost, you’ll find me,” Achilles said seriously.

“Of course,” Patroclus assured. “I’ll always find you.” 

The last thing Patroclus remembered seeing was Achilles’ smile brighten before he woke with a start. Patroclus rubbed the cold sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. He fell out of bed, onto his knees and stumbled to the balcony. It was freezing outside, but he needed that. He breathed hard trying to shake the dream off of him. It was late.

A movement caught his eye. Down below on the ground he noticed a figure moving. He squinted at it. In the bright light of the moon he saw a flash of red hair. Meriones? What was he doing out so late? But Patroclus didn't dwell on it long. He heard Achilles call his name from inside and Patroclus obediently went back inside to crawl back to bed. Soon enough sleep seized him, dragging him down into a dreamless slumber.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Potential triggers. There is extreme and violent acts of homophobia.

     "Patroclus, Patroclus," a voice called. Patroclus turned from where he was brushing Meadow to see Antilochus running up to him. That was weird, Antilochus didn't run. Patroclus stood, dropping the brush to the ground. 

    "What is it?" he asked when Antilochus caught up with him.

    "Where is Achilles?" Antilochus asked once he caught his breath. 

    "Back in the house. Why?" Patroclus asked. A huge grin spread across Antilochus' face.

    "We're going off to war," he said. Patroclus lost his footing for a second. 

    "What?"

    "We have our first mission."

    "How do you know this?" Patroclus asked. 

     "I heard some of the commanders talking about it."      

     Patroclus lifted an eyebrow. "Eavesdropping again?"

    "I can't help it. I'm naturally curious," Antilochus said, spreading his hands out defensively.

      "We have to tell Achilles," Patroclus said, nodding his head. 

     "Please, please stop it!" a voice shrieked from across the street. 

    "What the hell?" Antilochus asked, as a crowd of people began to gather. 

    "What's going on?" Patroclus asked, straining to get a view of what all the commotion was about.

      "I don't know," Antilochus said. "Let's have a closer look." Patroclus followed Antilochus as he pushed through the crowd to see two men being dragged by their knees across the ground. 

     “Please, I beg you. Mercy. Mercy!” one of the men begged, breaking into sobs. 

     "You can tie them up here," Agamemnon told Odysseus, tapping a pole with a riding crop. 

    "Nooo," the other men screamed, fear slapped across his face. But his cries were ignored. The men's shirts were stripped off of their backs as they had their hands were tied around the pole, their faces pressed into the wood.

     "Give them twenty-five lashes a piece," Agamemnon told Odysseus disinterestedly, handing him the riding crop and walking away. One of the men began to wail. Patroclus nearly fell over when he saw who it was.

    “Meriones?” he gasped. The boy turned to him, pure terror pooling in his eyes.

    “What’s going on here... sir?” Antilochus asked, stepping forward. 

    “Punishment,” Odysseus answered as the first lash was struck. 

    “Ahhhhh,” Meriones screamed as the crop hit his delicate white skin. A purple blotch was already beginning to form. Patroclus watched in horror as the riding crop was lifted and came down on his again.

    “Punishment for what? Sir.” Antilochus demanded.

   "These two men were caught doing ungodly things together. Things that will not be tolerated in this army," Odysseus answered. 

     "What could they possibly have been doing..." Antilochus trailed off as realization struck him.  

    Patroclus felt his heart drop to his stomach. That would explain Meriones strange behavior. Sneaking around at all hours of the night and hiding in random places during the day. Antilochus moved between Patroclus and Odysseus guarding him like a mother lion standing between her cubs and a hunter. 

    Patroclus watched as the whip went up and down on Meriones' and his lover's backs, each stroke like a throne in Patroclus' side digging into his flesh and twisting. 

    But Odysseus' eyes were what scared him the most. There was nothing in those steely blue eyes. No malice. No sympathy. Perhaps a twinge of boredom, but otherwise his expression was blank. He was beating two men bloody and he couldn't even muster up an emotion. He was just following orders. If they say beat the queers, then beat them. Just another day at the office. 

     Patroclus felt a hand on his elbow leading him away from the crowd and the screams. He must have moved along, but he couldn't feel his legs. He was breathing so fast he thought he might pass out. Antilochus practically dragged him to his room. Achilles immediately shot up when he saw them.

     "What happened?" he demanded. 

    "Umm..." Antilochus tried. 

    "Patroclus, are you okay?" Achilles asked, grabbing him by the shoulders and sitting him down. Patroclus tried to answer, but everything just came out as babbles. "It's okay, it's okay," Achilles kept repeating over and over again, stroking Patroclus' face. He turned to Antilochus. "Leave us."

    "Listen, Achilles-"

     "I said leave!"

    Antilochus gave Patroclus a quick squeeze on the shoulder before grudgingly walking out. When the room was empty, Patroclus fell into Achilles and began to tremble in his arms, tears streaking his face. 

    "I wish I was anywhere but here. I wish I was anywhere but here," Patroclus cried over and over. 

    "It's okay," Achilles soothed. Patroclus pushed himself back. His face red with tears and anger.

    "No it's not! How can you even think that?" he cried. Achilles eyes grew wide, touched with concern and shock. But Patroclus didn't care. "Do you know what's happening outside right now? Two men are being beaten for being, well, like us." Achilles face dropped, growing serious.

    "I would never let that happen to you," he swore. 

    "Even you couldn't stop them," Patroclus whispered. Achilles shook his head, unable to believe that.

     "Patroclus, you have to be missing something. Maybe they were-"

    "No. They're being whipped for just being together." Achilles shook his head, confusion imprinted on his brow. 

    "That can't be. I mean, a good man wouldn't...the army is for good men..."

    "Achilles," Patroclus said softly. "It was all a lie." 

    "I can't believe it," he muttered. "I mean I knew we had to be careful, but..."

    "I just can't imagine being punished for loving you," Patroclus whimpered, ruffling his hands through Achilles' hair. 

    "Oh, Patroclus, I would take a thousand lashes before I ever let them touch a hair on your head."

    Patroclus fell into Achilles' mouth, crushing their lips together. He could taste the salt of his own tears as fell into his mouth. With all the horror that had happened, Patroclus had forgotten to tell Achilles about marching to war.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The army was on the move the next day. Patroclus didn't know where he was going and he really didn't care. What happened the day before on the street had shaken him. It was like he could feel every soldier's black eyes on him, waiting for him to slip up. He imagined Odysseus' fingertips hovering over his whip, taut with anticipation. 

    Patroclus hated them. All of them. He hated being told he couldn't be near Achilles because of some stupid rule that didn't even make sense. The bitterness grew, consuming him as he rode Meadow along the frozen dirt road. He felt his fists clench and unclench. His back was tense and his eyes were wild, daring the men around him to say something. To accuse him of breaking the rules. Patroclus didn't have time to be scared of their mission. All he could feel was hate. 

     The army stopped at dusk in a small clearing. In minutes, tents were popping up and provisions were being passed around. Patroclus was on his knees trying to start a fire with two sticks. His hands were trembling and his fingers had long since become numb from the cold. Nothing was happening. He rubbed the sticks harder. Still nothing. He threw the sticks down and let out a frustrated grunt. 

     Suddenly two hand appeared on top of his. How could Achilles' hands be so warm when it was so cold outside? 

    "Calm down," Achilles whispered, picking up the sticks and rubbing them together. 

    "Don't tell me to calm down," Patroclus snapped, tucking his hands into his armpits.

    "Why not you're acting crazy?" Achilles asked. 

    "Crazy?" Patroclus whispered hotly through gritted teeth. "Well, maybe I'm a little upset to have the threat of being beaten held over my head for being gay."

    "Do you think I'm not?" Achilles asked, as a flame sparked between the sticks. 

    "Are you really, though? Because you don't seem to be," Patroclus accused. Achilles stopped and looked up at Patroclus. 

    "I'm pissed," he spat, his eyes hard. Patroclus wrapped his arms tighter around his body. 

     "I hate it here," he said. "I wish I was home."

     "Don't say that," Achilles said.

     "Why the hell not?"

     "Because if you were back at home you wouldn't be here with me," Achilles told him.

    "Fine. Then I wish we were both at home. I wish we had never enlisted into this stupid army to fight in this stupid war."

    Achilles stood up and dropped the sticks into the fire that he made.

    "Follow me," he said.

    "What?" Patroclus asked.

     "Follow me," Achilles repeated, his voice hard. 

    Patroclus stood up and followed Achilles, running a little to keep up with his lover's long, angry strides. For some reason seeing the tension in Achilles' muscles made Patroclus feel less tense. Like his anger had been transferred. Achilles led Patroclus into the forest that surrounded the camp. 

     "What?" Patroclus asked when they were surrounded by nothing but trees. Achilles turned to Patroclus and pushed him against a wide tree, slamming his back against the rough bark. 

     "Stop acting like their stupid rule matters," Achilles shouted. "Do you really think that they can keep me from you? Do you really think that I would let them?"

    "Like you can stop them," Patroclus answered in a high voice with little conviction. He could feel a fire flame up in his groin. Achilles leaned in so that his nose was touching Patroclus'.

    "Let them try to take you from me," he said, speaking in a low growl. "Because if they do, I'll tear them apart with my bare hands." Patroclus' legs went weak feeling Achilles' hot breath on his face.

     "Oh," Patroclus half gasped. His brain wasn't working. There was only that raw, desperate feeling in the pit of his stomach. Achilles pressed his forehead against Patroclus' staring down at his lover's parted lips with wide blown eyes. 

     "Nothing will keep me from getting what I want," he whispered, running his hands down Patroclus' body. "And I want you. Right now, I want you."  

     "Careful," Patroclus said, his voice wavering. "That sort of behavior isn't allowed in the Queen's army."

     "Fuck the Queen's army," Achilles snarled.

     "I'd be satisfied simply fucking you,"  Patroclus said, his hips jerking as Achilles dug his nails into them. Achilles attacked his jaw and neck with his tongue and mouth, nipping lightly at the soft flesh. Patroclus whinned as Achilles desperately clawed at his clothes. God, why was he wearing so many layers? He felt his body burn with his lover's touch.

      "Ohhhh."

    Within seconds Patroclus was hoisted up the tree, his ankles wrapped around Achilles' naked waist. He trembled uncontrollably as his pulsing shaft rubbed against Achilles' hard stomach. Patroclus' mouth moved over Achilles' hungrily. He tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth and pulled at his hair. His whole body swelled and flared with want. And he wanted Achilles. It was animal the way he desired him. He could feel Achilles' long shaft press against the back of his thigh, and it was all he could do to stop himself from screaming. His mouth exploded with the metalic taste of blood he was biting into his tongue so hard. 

     Achilles hawked a glob of saliva onto his hand and reached down to slicken his throbbing cock. Patroclus' eyes fluttered shut feeling Achilles arm brushing against. Achilles gripped the back of Patroclus' thighs, sliding him up the tree, his shaft taking aim at Patroclus' pulsing entrance. Achilles pushed his head inside, stretching Patroclus' heat. Patroclus saw stars. 

    "Oh, God, just do it already!" he called, his voice high with desperation. 

     With a single thrust of his hips Achilles entered Patroclus, his shaft reaching deep inside of Patroclus' body making his lover gasp. Achilles thrust again, making Patroclus cry out again. The forest filled with the sounds of ragged breaths and grunts as Patroclus bounced up and down on Achilles' dick. Patroclus gripped Achilles' hair tighter as the coarse bark of the tree scratched at his back making his pleasure more fierce. Achilles moved in him, filling him with his light. Patroclus was desperate for more. He wanted Achilles to be deeper in him, to reach inside and feel his soul.

    "Oh, yes! Ahh, yes," he called out as Achilles pierced him harder. "Oh, God, yes!" Patroclus came, spilling his seed all over Achilles' chest and stomach. He clenched tight and could feel Achilles explode inside of him, warming his channel. Patroclus felt his legs turn to jelly as Achilles lowered him to the ground. He rested his hands on his knees, panting hard as Achilles nestled his head into his shoulder. 

       All of Patroclus' strength had drained out of him and with it all of his anger and fear. But really, who can know fear once they've been kissed by the sun?


	12. Chapter 12

      The cavalry was on the move before morning had a chance to settle. A shrill wind rustled past them like a vengeful ghost causing Patroclus to involuntarily shiver. He buried his hands into Meadow's soft mane and let her heat warm his stiff hands. 

     Patroclus noticed Achilles glancing at him from the corner of his eye with a sly grin on his face. Patroclus blushed. He knew what Achilles was trying to do. He was trying to make Patroclus think about their act of defiance the night before so that he didn't have to think about the mission ahead. 

     A pulse had electrified the soldiers. It made them shake with anticipation. They were about to go into battle. Patroclus' doubted any of them had gotten any sleep the night before. This was their first taste of war. Their first chance to be a hero. To taste glory. But somehow the thrill had evaded Patroclus. He was immune to the battle fever. The idea of battle didn't give him bloodlust, but nausea. 

    "You're not nervous, you're excited," Achilles said, falling into pace with Patroclus.

    "Huh?" Patroclus asked vaguely, turning to face him. 

    "You look nervous, Patroclus," Achilles informed. "But I'm telling you you're not. You're excited."

    "Ah, so now you're a mind reader?" Patroclus asked. 

    "No, I just know you, " Achilles said. "You're probably overthinking this and worrying, but you shouldn't be. This is exciting."

     "Well, I can see you're excited," Patroclus said, hoping to shift the conversation from himself and the dread that both he and Achilles knew was building up inside of him. 

    "Of course  _ I'm _ excited," Achilles stated as if it was the obvious thing in the world. "Do you remember when my father used to tell us war stories about when he fought Napoleon?" 

     Patroclus nodded. Peleus' stories were some of his fonder childhood memories. 

   "Well, now we have stories to tell him!" Achilles exclaimed. "I've dreamed of growing up to be just like my dad. A hero. And here we are about to go on our first mission."

    "Yeah, it's pretty great," Patroclus lied, trying to feign excitement.

     He stole a look at Achilles. He sat tall upon the Night, giving Patroclus a warm sincere smile that caused butterflies to flutter in Patroclus' chest. How could he ever worry about war when this angel was a soldier fighting in it? Nothing horrible could ever come from those perfect golden hands. His innocence and honor would keep the battle from turning gruesome. He would make war an art. He would turn strategy into poetry. He was life, and nothing could die around him.

    "Hold!" Odysseus shouted from the front of the band. Patroclus pulled Meadow's reins to join in with the rest of the confused soldiers in a clumsy hault. 

    "What's happening?" Patroclus whispered to Achilles.

    "I think we've reached our destination," Achilles whispered back. 

    "There's our target boys," Odysseus claimed, pointing towards the bottom of the hill that they were standing on to a camp fortified only by a weak wall constructed of logs that ran along the perimeter. From their position high in the hills, the fort looked like a doll house. "We're going to sneak into that ammunition camp and take the place off the map."

    "Isn't that a bit extreme," Patroclus muttered to Achilles.

    "It's a bit exciting," Achilles muttered back. Patroclus rolled his eyes. "What are we waiting for?"

    "We're waiting for a signal," Patroclus informed. 

    He took in a deep breath and focused his eyes straight ahead of him. The silence that fell over the men was unbearable. Patroclus wished someone would cough or talk or something, but no one did. 

    He gripped Meadow's reins harder, turning his knuckles white.  _ You can do this. Just relax, _ he tried to coach himself.  _ This is supposed to be exciting _ . He hadn't noticed anyone walking around the camp. Maybe it was abandoned. Maybe they would just take the ammunition being stored there and go. No fight. No death. Patroclus exhaled slowly, trying to push the dread away.  _ You can do this. _

     Odysseus lifted his right arm into the air, his long saber shining leathly in the light. As soon as he lowered that hand it would be time to charge. Patroclus closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them he would be somewhere else. But when he opened his eyes Odysseus was still in front of him, his saber pointed upwards as though it was trying to reach the heavens.  _ You can do this _ . Ready... Set... Go!

     Odysseus' signal released an tsunami of red. A wave of soldiers spilled over the hill down towards the unsuspecting camp below. Patroclus unsheathed his saber, holding it above his head. Below him he could feel Meadow's power as she charged down the hill. Hooves rumbled like thunder. 

     He heard the screams before he saw the people stationed at the camp. Some pulled out muskets to shoot, but most hadn't been ready for the soldiers that had descended on them like a hoard of lotus. 

     Patroclus could hear Menelaus' voice in his head as he rode.  _ Slice: left ear to right shoulder. Thrust, turn, pull. Slice: right ear to left shoulder.  _ This wasn't real. It was just like drills. They weren't slicing people, but instead straw dummies. It was just like before, back at training.

    But the screams sure sounded real. And the terror was real. It was real blood that splattered into Patroclus' mouth as he made his way through the camp. It was all real. He couldn't fool himself. 

     Patroclus' heart rate increased. He could feel his throat close up as panic began to build up inside of him. Patroclus jerked his head to the side. Where was Achilles? He couldn't see him. Meadow buckled and jerked as Patroclus steered her in circles looking for him. 

     "Achilles?" he called. "Achilles?" He was trembling. Where was he? All Patroclus could see around him were blurs. There was red and gun fire and sabers, but where was Achilles? He looked around, desperately searching. His eyes focused on a soldier. Damon? It was Damon. And there was a gun pointed at him. Patroclus opened his mouth to shout, but it was too late. The gun was smoking and Damon was clutching his shoulder, his mouth wide open. Damon's screams blended in with all the others. 

     Patroclus flicked Meadow's reins, racing towards Damon. He saw him fall from his horse. Patroclus rode harder. He ignored the gore around him and focused on reaching Damon. He was almost there, almost there. A little further. But Meadow stumbled. She tripped over the carnage that littered the ground and fell. Patroclus flew over her head, over the chaos, and landed on his chest. 

     A sever pain consumed him, but he couldn't locate the source. He gasped for breath, coughing violently. He rolled onto his side. A girl lay next to him. Her wide eyes had been darkened by death. Blood spilled from her throat. Patroclus paled. He might have screamed. Why was there a girl at the camp? She was far too young to be a wife. She couldn't have been older than thirteen. Patroclus struggled to sit up. 

     "Ahh," he cried, as a sharp pain shot up his arm. He cradled his limp wrist and looked around. He felt his heart stop. There weren't just men being killed. Children screamed, clinging to their mothers as the soldiers swept with their sabers. Fathers lay slaughtered while trying to protect their families. Someone threw a torch, and suddenly the camp was on fire. A camp that housed families was engulfed by flame and destroyed by war. Was this even an ammunition camp? Terror seized Patroclus. He had to find Damon. 

     "Damon!" he screamed, crawling through the bodies to find his friend. "Damon!"  

    Patroclus heard a faint sound that might have been a reply. He found Damon lying on the ground. He pulled himself over. Damon was whimpering and grabbing his shoulder. Patroclus layed his good hand on Damon's wound, applying pressure. 

     "Patroclus," Damon whinned.

     "Close your eyes," Patroclus instructed. "Don't worry it'll be fine. Everything will be fine."

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Patroclus said nothing as he walked. The raid was over and the cavalry was moving to meet up with the rest of the army set up in a camp not far away. Some men rode their horses. Some, like Damon, were wounded and needed to be carried. But Patroclus walked. Meadow had hurt her leg when she had fell and so Patroclus chose to walk beside her as she limped down the frozen road to camp.

     Patroclus had been shrieking as he held on to Damon during the raid. He hadn't realized it was over until Achilles had pulled him to his feet. The town had been destroyed. Every person slaughtered.

              Achilles walked, too. He walked beside Patroclus and neither of them spoke. His face was splattered with blood and was turned to the ground. The excitement had died from his eyes and was replaced by an unreadable blank expression. 

    Patroclus stared at his feet while he walked. A silent snow had begun to fall and a thin layer of white covered the ground. His feet left prints in the ground, soiling the clean blanket of snow. He rested his hand on the hilt of his saber. 

    He remembered the first time he had been given a real sword to practice with. He had been so nervous. A wooden sword had been easy to practice with, but a real saber could be deadly if it wasn't handled right. 

      "Loosen up, cadet," Menelaus had called to Patroclus as he swung and missed a target. 

     "Yes, sir," Patroclus had called back.  _ Yeah right,  _ he had thought.  _ If I loosen up too much I'll cut my ear off.  _

     "Don't fear the blade, cadet," Menelaus had shouted out to him. "You rule the blade, it's not the other way around. Got that?"

_ Got that? _ Patroclus thought presently. Sabers don't kill, the soldiers wielding them do. Patroclus ruled his blade and the blood that had stained it was on his hands, not on anyone else's. He shivered again. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     It only took a few hours before the regiment had met up with the rest of the army. The army was stationed in a large open field partially concealed by a forest. White tents were popped up all across the field, like milk cartons lined up in a row. Weaving between the tents were what must have been at least four hundred men either running around or loiter. And there weren't just men either. Patroclus thought he saw some women carrying bags full of laundry or pots filled with stew. They were probably wives or sisters of the soldiers. He tried to push back the images of the women back at the camp he had helped raid. They were probably wives and sisters, too. 

      The pain in Patroclus' wrist had traveled up, until his whole arm was sore and numb. His ribs hurt, too. He noticed some men being carted away to the medical tent and he knew that he should follow them, but he didn't want to. 

     He turned to Meadow and stroked her sleek mane, wet with sweat. White froth foamed up in a thin film along her sides. Patroclus clicked his tongue.

     "It'll be okay, girl," he assured. 

     They say there is a special kind of strength that only a mother can know. A patience, a persistency that can only come from a drive to protect your child. The endurance of a mother has no comparison. And there is no length a mother would not go to be her child's side. And so Meadow stood, her breath heavy and her eyes half open, by Patroclus' side. 

    Patroclus took her reins, pulling gently to get her to continue to move. She reluctantly followed him into the camp. He could see how much it hurt for her to keep walking on her injured leg. She needed water and rest.

    "Excuse me?" Patroclus asked a woman that walked by him. "Where can I put my horse?" She pointed towards the corner of the field where all of the other horses seemed to be tied up. 

     "Oh, thank you," he muttered turning to head in the direction the woman pointed. 

     He walked through the camp at a snail's pace while Meadow struggled to keep up. It wasn't late, but campfires were already burning to combat the dreariness of the heavy grey sky that hid the sun. Men sat around the fires laughing or singing. Patroclus walked by a man who was telling a horror story to some of the younger soldiers. Their eyes were wide with fright as he told them of the terrors of fighting against Napoleon. Didn't these men know that people were dying around them? 

     Patroclus shook his head and stared down at his feet as they moved over the stiff, brown grass. 

      Meadow collapsed with exhaustion once they had reached the other horses. Patroclus dipped his good hand in a trough of water and knelt beside her, dripping the water onto her skin to cool her off. She let out a heavy and relieved breath. 

     "Say, is everything alright with this horse?" a man asked. Patroclus didn't recognize him, but he did recognize the strips of a sergeant. 

     "Yes, sir," Patroclus said, standing up. "She's just a little tired from her walk."

     "I don't know," the sergeant said. "Better have the doc take a look at her. Hey, Galley go fetch Hanson. Tell him we've got a horse he needs to look at." 

     A young soldier ran off and came back with an older man. The man didn't look like an doctor. He was scruffy and wearing a privates uniform. 

    "What's the problem?" the doctor, Hanson, asked. 

    "She tripped today during a raid. Her leg just hurts a little. She's been marching on it all day," Patroclus tried to explain. Hanson nodded.

    "Better stand her up so I can have a look at it," he said, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. 

     "You're a doctor?" Patroclus asked as he helped get Meadow to her feet. Hanson laughed. 

    "Hardly. But I was raised on a ranch. I know everything there is to know about horses," he said, kneading his long fingers up and down Meadow's injured leg. 

     Patroclus cradled his bad arm, looking out over the camp as Hanson grunted and nodded over Meadow's leg. His wrist was bruised and purple. He really needed to have it looked at. 

    "Mmm hmm. Just as I thought," Hanson concluded, straightening up. "This leg is done."

     Patroclus jerked his head to look at him. "What do you mean done?"

    "What do you think I mean? I mean it's done. The bone is ruined, she'll never walk right again."

     "Oh, my God," Patroclus exclaimed, slapping his palm against his forehead. "Well, are we sending her back to England?" Patroclus felt sick thinking of riding off into battle without her. 

     Hanson shook his head sadly. "That's not how we do it here, son," he said.

     "Well, she can't fight anymore, you said her leg was done," Patroclus pointed out.

     "That I did," Hanson replied. He turned to the sergeant. "You better get this boy out of here."

     "Why should I leave," Patroclus asked as an uneasy panic began to scratch at his throat. 

     "You have to understand, a horse is born to run. If she can't run, there's no point of living. And with her leg she'll be in pain for the rest of her life," Hanson tried to explain. 

     Patroclus' eyes went wide. He didn't even realize that he was shaking his head.

    "No," he said, getting between Meadow and Hanson. "I won't let you touch her. She'll be fine when she get's home. I'll take care of her until then. I swear it."

     "Come on, son, you can't be that cold," Hanson said. "She has to be put out of her misery."

     "Misery?" Patroclus gasped. "You're not even a real doctor. She can get better."

     "No she can't. I've seen this before a hundred times. She's done. Now stand back," Hanson instructed. 

     "No!" Patroclus hollered. "You won't touch her."

    "Enough of this," the sergeant said. "We're not wasting resources on a useless horse." He pulled out a pistol from his side.

    "No!" Patroclus hollered again, lunching at the sergeant. Hanson grabbed Patroclus and held him back. Patroclus cursed and wriggled and pulled, trying to free himself from Hanson's strong grasp, but it was useless. The sergeant layed Meadow down. 

    "Please," Patroclus begged, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'll take care of her. Just leave her alone. Please!"

     "It's for her own good," Hanson insisted, tightening his hold on Patroclus. Patroclus whimpered and squirmed. The sergeant cocked his gun. 

     "Stop," Patroclus called out. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard the shot. His knees buckled and Hanson let him fall to the ground. On his knees, he bolted for Meadow, stumbling into her body. 

     Her eyes looked like glass and her tongue had rolled out of her mouth, but her body was still warm. His trembling fingers moved lightly over her body. Her warm blood stained his fingers and he quickly pulled his hand back as though her blood burned him. 

     His breathing was shallow as he stood up. His face crumbled, giving her one last look before running into the woods. He let the camp and the men and war fall behind him as he ran. 

     He plunged into a frigid stream, the stones at the bottom cutting into his knees as he fell. The cold water flowed around him, not bothered by his presence. Every hair on Patroclus' body stood up and he shivered, feeling his lips turn blue, but it didn't matter. He tore off his jacket and his shirt and scrubbed at his skin with a rock. He whimpered, desperately trying to clean the blood from his arms and face and hair. Tears streamed down his face, colder than the water around him. 

     Maybe the jagged rock being forced up and down Patroclus' skin was causing him to bleed. Maybe the blood was Meadow's. Or maybe it belonged Damon or the people from the raid. But there was so much blood on him. He thought he would never clean it all off. 

     The heavy patter of footprints caused Patroclus to stop. Across the stream a girl fell, using the freezing water to wash blood from her face. She looked like she was hurt. Probably a survivor from the raid. Patroclus opened his mouth to say something, but only a weak choking sound came out. 

    She looked up and froze. Shock and fear showed in her wide cat eyes. Patroclus reached out a hand to help her, but she backed and ran away. He watched her flee with a slight blossom of disappointment. It felt like the further he got into the war, the more the glamour faded. Glory was a tale told to children. War didn't bring glory, it only brought hatred and despair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I feel I must explain why I had to kill of Meadow. I fear I was too subtle. I wanted to paint Meadow as a maternal figure- not sure if you picked up on that. The significance of her death is to leave Patroclus motherless (sorry Patty Cake you have never had a mother have you?). Anyway, all soldiers are orphans. The morality and tenderness a mother teaches is nowhere near battle.


	13. Chapter 13

      Patroclus sat shirtless on a cot inside the medical tent, his bruised ribs and sprained wrist bandaged with stiff white gause. There was a pretty nurse with large brown eyes and black curly hair that hung just above her waist buzzing around the tent like a humming bird tending to the men. Patroclus ignored her and stared at the rips on the knees of his pants. 

     The air in the tent felt heavy and it reeked like sickness and death. Damon lay on another cot, twisting and mumbling in a drug induced sleep.

     "How is he?" Patroclus had asked the nurse when he first went into the tent.

    "He'll be fine. He just needs some rest," she had informed. Her voice had a faint tweak of a foreign accent, though Patroclus couldn't figure out which.

    Dark brown stained Patroclus' pants, blood from the scratches on his knees. He couldn't help noticing a slight tremble in his leg.

     "Patroclus," a relieved voice sighed. Patroclus glanced up, seeing Achilles stride over towards him. A dark shadow passed over Achilles' face when he saw Patroclus' bandages. 

     "Look at what those bastards did to you," he said as he knelt, letting his fingers skirt over a long scratch on Patroclus' forearm. Patroclus pulled his arm away.

    "I did this to me," he said cooly. Achilles swallowed and let his tone soften.

    "I got worried when I couldn't find you," he said.

    "I wanted to be alone," Patroclus informed. Achilles nodded.

    "I heard about your horse."

    "Did you?" Patroclus asked miserably. Achilles nodded again. 

    "I'm really sorry." Patroclus' mouth pinched together. "Maybe it was for the best-"

    "Stop," Patroclus cut in. "Just don't."

    "She was hurt," Achilles tried. 

    "So am I," Patroclus pointed out, turning to look at Achilles for the first time. "Why don't they shoot me?"

     "It's not the same," Achilles interjected.

     "What do you mean? They killed Meadow because she was hurt. I've heard of them shooting men just for trying to leave this place. And they beat men for a lot less than that and you know it. So, how is it not the same? Aren't we all just uniforms?" Patroclus asked, hotly. 

     Achilles looked down, tucking his chin against his chest. "I wish I could understand what you're feeling right now," he whispered. "This is the first time I've haven't been able to know exactly what you're thinking."

    "We had all these ideas of what it would be like when we enlisted," Patroclus said distantly. "And it's nothing like what we thought." Achilles rested his hand on top of Patroclus'.

     "I talked to the general," Achilles said after a long moment of silence. "He said he didn't know that there were going to be civilians in the camp we raided."

     "Do you believe him?" Patroclus asked.

     "No."

    It was almost dark by the time Patroclus decided to go into his own tent for the night. The tent hung low and he had to duck to get in. Achilles straightened when he saw him. There was something desperate in Achilles' eyes, but he didn't say anything to Patroclus when the other boy crawled into his bedroll, turning his back. 

    Achilles waited until the sun had nestled down for the night and the last campfire was extinguished to speak. There is something comforting about the darkness that loosens the tongue. The dark knows all the secrets that are too afraid to be spoken in the day. 

     Achilles could tell by the rise and fall of Patroclus' breaths that he was still awake. 

    "I'm sorry," Achilles told him. Patroclus didn't say anything, but Achilles knew he was listening. "I know you hate this place and it's my fault that you're here." Achilles rolled onto his side. "I don't hate it here. Not like you do. There are parts I don't like, but it feels right. I was born to be a soldier. It's apart of who I am. I wish I wasn't so greedy. I wish I didn't want glory. I wish you were the only thing that I wanted."

    Patroclus shifted. "Me too," he said. Achilles grew silent. He didn't say anything for the rest of the night. 

     It was a cruel thing to say, and Patroclus knew it. Achilles hadn't forced Patroclus to go to war with him. He went willingly. He knew what he was getting into. And Achilles had been right. He was born to be a soldier. Every inch of his body screamed for praise. His muscles wanted the challenge of war. His skin wanted to glow with glory. And isn't that part of why Patroclus loved him? To wish that want away would be to reduce Achilles to an empty version of himself. Patroclus would rather die than to see Achilles wither. 

     But Patroclus didn't tell Achilles any of those things. 


	14. Chapter 14

     The morning brought with it a gentle snow. The flakes settled on the earth like pollen in the early spring and dissolved as soon as they hit the ground. As the day grew longer the snow changed into rain making the trees swell and the ground thick with mud. The rain and the grey sky made the day perfectly dreary. It only made sense that on a day like this one a new mission was assigned.

     "My wrist is hurt I don't think I can go," Patroclus had explained. It was a lame excuse, but it got him out of fighting. 

     He sat in the medical tent, helping to sponge the sweat off of Damon's resting forehead. In certain places the rain managed to drip through the heavy canvas of the tent making it cold. 

     Damon stirred, mumbling something in his sleep. He looked different while he slept. The morphine made his mouth slack and his skin seemed to hang a little. Patroclus wiped away a bead of sweat that was running down the side of his face. Damon snorted and opened up his droopy eyelids halfway, blinking rapidly at the light. 

      "Patroclus?" Damon murmured hoarsely. Patroclus jumped up.

     "You're awake," he declared.

     "I'm so thirsty," he coughed. 

     "Sit tight, I'll bring you some water." Patroclus rushed off to fill a plastic cup with water. When he returned the pretty, brown haired nurse was examining him. 

     "Will you help me sit him up?' she asked Patroclus, her words slanted with her accent.

     "Oh, of course," Patroclus said, setting the cup down. He looped his good arm under Damon's waist and, on three, pulled him up. The nurse stuffed pillows behind Damon's back as Patroclus held out the cup to help him drink. Two fountains of water dripped from the corners of Damon's mouth. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

     "What happened to you?" Damon asked, gesturing with his head to Patroclus' wrist. 

     "I fell off my horse."

     "Oh. What happened to me?"

     "You got shot through the shoulder," Patroclus said. 

     "No wonder it hurts so much," Damon laughed uneasily. Patroclus smiled. 

    "You'll be all right though," he said. Damon nodded and sat silently for a long time. 

    "Did you hurt your writing hand?" he finally asked. 

    "No," Patroclus answered. 

    "Well, do you think you can write a letter for me?" Damon asked. 

    "Yeah, of course," Patroclus said. "I'll go get a pen and some paper." He patted Damon's leg and left the tent returning with the promised items. He took a seat next to Damon. "Who are you writing to?"

     "Carmilia," Damon said. 

     "Of course you are," Patroclus said with a smile.

    "Thank goodness Antilochus isn't here," Damon said. "Say, where is he?"

    "Everyones off on another mission," Patroclus answered.

    "Oh," Damon said, scrunching his brow together. "Oh."

     "The letter?" Patroclus reminded him. 

     "Oh, yeah," Damon said, retreating from his thoughts. "Write this: Dear Carmila. No, scratch that. My Love: I have news. Since I last wrote I have arrived in Crimea and have marched off to battle. My first taste of war did not go as I thought. I was shot through the shoulder. But don't worry, I'm okay. The bullet does not hurt nearly as much as the ache in my heart from being separated from you." Damon paused, blushing slightly. "I have known men who have been shot like me. Their arms are never the same again. I expect to be discharged soon. Probably after my wound heals more. I'm sorry I will not be returning to you with all the glory I promised, but I will return to you none the less. I don't know what kind of hero you wanted, but I hope I've proven myself worthy of you. What I really want to say, or ask rather, is when I return home will you do me the honor of being my wife? I've loved you since the day I saw you. I would have asked sooner but I needed to prove myself first. I hope I have. Marry me Carmilla and make me the happiest man alive? Your love, Damon."

     Patroclus put the pen down. "Wow," he said. "Congratulations, Damon."

    Damon's blushed deepened and he smiled inwardly. "Do you think she'll say yes?" he asked quietly.

    "I've never been more sure of something in my whole life," Patroclus assured. 

     Damon let out a sleepy sigh and fell back against his pillows. "I think I'm going to go back to sleep," he said, his eyes fluttering shut.

     "You do that," Patroclus whispered, patting his knee. 

     Patroclus stood up, pushing the stool out from under him, and slowly crept away from Damon. He smiled, lightly blowing on the letter to dry the ink, and then put the folded letter into his pocket. 

     "That was a sweet letter," the nurse said, folding a blanket.

     "Yeah," Patroclus agreed. 

     "Who would expect so much romance to come out of war," she said, looking at him with a sideways glance.

    "I guess," Patroclus said, shifting from one foot to the other. 

    "With war comes great hate, but it also brings people together. A lot of love comes from it, too," she said. 

    "Well, passion is passion," Patroclus replied. "It can make people do crazy things." The nurse smiled. This was the opening she had been waiting for. 

    "Is that why you're here?" she asked. 

    "What do you mean?" Patroclus inquired.

    She shrugged, bringing the corners of the blanket together. "I couldn't help but overhear you talk to your blonde friend the other day. You seem to hate this war. So, why are you here?"

    Patroclus was taken aback by the question. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. She lifted a brow. "I'm here for a... friend," he finally answered.

    "Me too," she said with a wink. "You and I are a lot alike. We're puppies. We'd loyally follow the men we love anywhere."

    Patroclus gaped at her. "I don't..." he started. But he couldn't finish. He could never deny loving Achilles, even if it was a complete lie. Just the thought left his tongue tasting bitter. Besides, the nurse's eyes were clever and all knowing, she could see right through him. She would never believe his lie. So, there would be no point in spitting such poison into the universe. 

    "Will you tell?" Patroclus asked quietly.

    "I"m a Russian born woman assisting British soldiers. I betrayed my country for love. I'm in no position to judge," she said. Patroclus let out a sigh of relief. An almost giddy feeling came over him. 

    "Well, like I said, people do crazy things for love."

    "That they do," she agreed. "But it's worth it though." Patroclus smile inwardly.

    "It really is. What's your man's name?"

     "Gabriel. Your's?"

     "Achilles."      The nurse smiled. "I'm Briseis," she said. 

     "Patroclus."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     There was something sincere and beautiful about Briseis. Her wisdom went beyond her years. And when she spoke, hours passed without notice. Her smile was an oasis and her company was a haven; warm and safe in midst of a cruel hard land. 

    "Tell me how you met Gabriel," Patroclus said one afternoon. 

    "Well," she started. She always began her stories this way. "My mother and I left Russia when I was still a girl. We moved in lived at a restaurant one of my uncle's owned in England. One day a man came in. I remember I dropped a tray when I first saw him. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I didn't want to wait on him, but my mother insisted. I made a complete fool of myself. The next day he came back. And then the next day and the next day. It was only a matter of time before we fell in love."

    Patroclus chuckled. "That's a good story," he told her.

    Sanity is an abstract concept. To some it is the ability to adapt to what is normal. To others it is security. To Patroclus it was hiding away in the medical tent assisting Briseis with the injured soldiers. She had an arsenal of homemade remedies and an easy way of explaining how they worked. 

    Patroclus got good at helping in the tent and the wounded men took to him. Briseis had been right, the two were a lot alike. Together they brought a gentleness to the injured that the soldiers could receive nowhere else. So, when Patroclus complained about his wrist that no longer hurt, no one really minded that he was in the tent and not on the field. 

     Damon stayed in the tent too, for a little while anyway. His fever broke about after a week and by the end of two weeks his wound was healed enough for him to be shipped off home. 

     "You're a coward," Antilochus shouted when he found out that Damon was going. "And you're weak. Hell, if I was hurt like you I'd be back on the field by now. You're just a coward that's why you're leaving!" 

      Damon let out a gentle sigh. "Maybe you're right. But I want to go home. A soldier's life is not for me. I miss my mother and I miss real food. And more importantly, I miss Carmilla," he tried to explain.

    "God damn it!" Antilochus hollered. "I don't ever want to hear her name again." He stopped out of the tent in a huff. And he didn't say goodbye to Damon on the day he left. 

    It was an unceremonious departure. One day Damon was in the there and the next he wasn't. Patroclus didn't miss him because he knew wherever Damon was he was happier than he was when he laying his cot. 

     Patroclus enjoyed his new work. But sometimes he would hear a joke and laugh and a twinge of sadness would build up in his chest. Other times he would tell Briseis a story and would excitedly turn to have Achilles butt in, but then he remembered that Achilles wasn't there. They had spent their whole lives together, but now their worlds were separate. And Patroclus missed him. Sometimes he would gone for days on campaigns and when he would come back he would be stiff and cold. 

     Patroclus heard rumors about him. Stories that would make him smile. Did the soldiers love Achilles? They admired him. They respected him. And in all his glamour, they thought they loved him. And they used that love to worship him. Never before had they seen anyone as brave or talented or fearless. Did you hear about that time when he saved Cooper from those Russian bears? I swear I've seen him fly. I've never seen him slouch, he's never tired, never hungry, never cold. Achilles rode upon a golden cloud and the only way to see him was to look up. Legends have been made from lesser men. 

     Each strip Achilles earned elevated him. He climbed the stairs to greatness. The stars are bright and bold, but always alone. The problem with gold is that it is cold to the touch. Achilles was there for glory. And he was finding it. But Patroclus missed the boy. He prefered the man to the legend. He wanted what was real. Briseis was real. Maybe that's why Patroclus adored her so much. She would listen to Patroclus talk about simpler times and it felt like he was living them again. 

     "Wait, how high was this tree again?" Briseis asked, her eyes wide, listening to one of Patroclus' stories. 

     "No more than fifteen feet. But back then that was enormous. I begged Achilles not to climb it, but of course his mind was made up. He would climb to the top and finally be able to touch the sky," Patroclus told her.

    "Did he?" she asked. Patroclus smiled. 

   "He fell off while reaching for it," he laughed. She laughed too. Her eyes bright.

   "That reminds me of the time when my cousin, Peter, thought it would be funny to jump a freight train," she said. 

   "No," Patroclus laughed. 

    "Yes, he did." 

    The tent flap opened letting in the dusk and cold into the tent. Achilles stepped inside. Briseis stopped talking and jumped to her feet. 

    "Captain Pelides," she said, switching to her nurse voice. "Is everything alright?"

    "I cut my hand," he said, lifting up his hand to show her his palm. 

    "Well, let me have a look at it," she said, sweetly sitting him down on a cot. His eyes fell on Patroclus. "This looks like it stings. How did it happen?"

    "I pinched the skin on my revolver," he informed. She wiped his palm with a cloth and began to apply a salve to his cut. 

    "That's funny," she commented. "They say that you're invincible."

    Achilles rolled his eyes. "Evidently not," he sneered. 

    "Yeah," Briseis said under her breath. 

    "Patroclus," Achilles said, standing up. He rubbed his thumb over the bandage Briseis had applied to his hand. "I'm going back to our tent. Are you coming?" His voice was cold, but Patroclus could see the desperation in his pleading eyes. 

    "Well," Patroclus started, glancing over at Briseis. Achilles snorted.

    "You know what? Forget it," he said, waving his hand and storming out of the tent. 

    "Achilles," Patroclus called after him. "Achilles!"

    Patroclus found Achilles sitting on the floor of their tent, busying himself cleaning the individual pieces of his musket. 

    "Achilles," Patroclus said standing over him. Achilles shined the stock of his musket. 

    "Why aren't you giggling with your best friend?" he asked hotly.

    "Because he's pouting like a child," Patroclus answered. Achilles glowered at him, then went back to cleaning his gun. "Come on. Don't be like that."

    "I don't know what you're talking about," Achilles said.

    "I can't believe this. You're jealous of her," Patroclus accused.

    "No I'm not!" Achilles shoot back defensively. He stared at Patroclus for a second. "Why? Should I be?" Patroclus retreated under his stare. Achilles lifted a brow. 

    "What! Jesus, no," Patroclus shrieked, his eyes widening at Achilles' silent accusation. "My God, she's married."

    "So?" Achilles asked angrily.

    "So, no!" Patroclus said. "We just talk about stuff."

    "Remember when you used to talk to  _ me  _ about stuff?" Achilles asked, turning back to his gun. 

     Patroclus let out a sigh. "Achilles," he tried, taking a seat beside him. 

    "It doesn't matter," Achilles said quietly. "Because I'm leaving tomorrow on another mission. That should give you and your girlfriend plenty of time to gossip."

    "Achilles," Patroclus softly whispered, reaching for his arm. Achilles jerked his arm away from Patroclus' touch.

    "Why don't you just leave?" he said hotly, his voice thick.

    "Fine," Patroclus shouted coldly, scrambling to get up. He didn't notice Achilles' wounded eyes following him as he left the tent. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I just don't understand him," Patroclus admitted to Briseis. "It's like he wants to fight all of the time." 

     Briseis shrugged her slender shoulders. "Well,you know him better than I do," she said. "But my mother used to tell me that people fight when they want to say something but don't know how to say it. What do you think he's trying to tell you?" 

    "I don't know," Patroclus admitted. Briseis looked down at her lap where she was carefully folding gause. 

     "Patroclus," she said quietly. "Do you think that maybe you're just growing apart." Patroclus gaped at her. 

     "What? No! Never," he told her. 

    "All right, I'm sorry," she started. "Poor choice of words. It's just that you can't come to a place like this," she gestured to around her, "and not change."

     "He hasn't changed," Patroclus said surely. 

    "Well," Briseis tried.

    "No," Patroclus interrupted. "He hasn't." A hot flash of anger surged over him just at the suggestion. She was wrong. He and Achilles had a fight, they were tense, but that didn't mean he had changed. Patroclus thought back. Achilles still had his charm and undying desire to make people proud. His sincerity never faltered and his honor shined. Briseis didn't know what she was talking about. He hadn't changed. 

     "Patroclus," she tried again. "There's no point in denying it. And maybe it's not a bad thing. I mean, I'm sure you've changed too. And surely for the better." Patroclus folded his arms over his chest and said nothing. "If you're fighting, don't you think it could be because you're not compatible anymore."

     "Stop," Patroclus warned her. 

     "No, because you need to hear this," she insisted. "You have to decide to leave or adapt."

     "I would never leave him," Patroclus hissed, leaning close to her. "How could you even say that?" Briseis gathered herself.

     "I know how you feel. When Gabriel-"

     "He's not your husband!" Patroclus shot hotly. "He's mine." Briseis picked the gause up from her lap and slammed it down on a nearby table. She stood up, a anger crossed her eyes. 

     "Listen to me," she commanded. "Everyday you tell me stories about this sweet and wonderful little boy that you grew up with, but he isn't so little and he isn't so sweet anymore. Just ask any man in this tent about your darling Achilles. They all say the same thing. He's a hero, he saved them, he's unstoppable. How do you think he did all that? Huh? He killed people that's how."

     "Stop it!" Patroclus shouted to her. 

    "No! You can't possibly be so blind!"

    "Well, what do you want Briseis? What do hope to gain right now? Do you want me to leave him? Because I won't. I never will. I don't care what you say. I don't care who you think he is because you don't know him. He's mine!" Patroclus yelled, storming out of the tent. He thought he heard her call after him but he ignored her. 

     The camp was bustling outside as the men settled down for dinner. Patroclus huffed past them. God, there were so many in his way.

    "Patroclus," he heard a baritone voice call.

   "What?!" he barked spinning towards the voice.

    "Jeez," the man said. "I just brought you a letter."

    "Oh," Patroclus said, accepting the letter from the man. He looked down at it turning and walking away. He should have thanked the men and apologized for snapping at him, but he didn't. 

    The letter was addressed from Damon. Patroclus tossed it onto the ground when he reached his tent. He wasn't in the mood for one of Damon's letters. It probably talked about how happy and married he was and Patroclus couldn't handle that right now. 

    He sat down on his heels and pulled his hair back on his forehead.  _ Stop living in denial. You know he's changed _ , Briseis voice rang in his head.  _ No, he hasn't,  _ Patroclus snapped back. 

     Patroclus' eyes rolled over to look at Achilles' empty bedroll. Patroclus wished more than anything he wasn't on a mission and were here instead. Patroclus needed to feel his warmth. Needed to look into his eyes and assure himself that they were still the same. He needed to see the spark glisten in them.

     Patroclus closed his eyes and pulled Achilles' pillow close to him. He nestled into the thin fabric and took in Achilles' scent. A few stray tears stained the white material. Patroclus hugged the pillow closer trying to imagine that it was Achilles. 

    But it made a poor substitute. 


	15. Chapter 15

     Sunlight bled through a crack in Patroclus' tent flap bringing with it a gust of frigid air. Spots began to form against the red curtain of his eyelids. He heard the tent flap open and the inside of the tent began to rustle. He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. 

     Achilles had stripped to the waist and was washing himself down with a cloth. Patroclus leaned forward and picked up the other boy's red jacket. Achilles had been so excited when he had first been issued his uniform. Patroclus could still picture the gleam that shone out of his proud eyes. 

    He felt Achilles' eyes on him as he layed the jacket out on his lap to reminisce in the days of old. Patroclus smoothed out the sleeved with the flat of his hands. He didn't intend to let his face fall, but that's what it did when he saw the blood stain in the front. It was as though a tiny invisible man had tied anchors to the corners of Patroclus' mouth, forcing a look of displeasure to appear on his face. 

    He vaguely felt Achilles take the jacket out of his hands. A sudden fear grew inside of Patroclus. He glanced up at Achilles. The other boy held the jacket self-consciously against his chest. 

    "Stop looking at me like that," he said. 

    "Like what?" Patroclus asked. 

    "Like that." 

    Patroclus turned his eyes down to his lap.  _ He killed people _ , Briseis' voice hissed in his head.  _ Killer _ . He squeezed his eyes shut to block the voice out.

    Achilles' voice interrupted Patroclus' thoughts like a hand splashing in muddy water. "It's not like the first time," he said, looking down at his jacket. "I only kill people with guns."

    "Sure, that justifies it," Patroclus sneered. He hadn't meant to. He didn't mean to say anything, but it had slipped. Patroclus snuck a look up at Achilles. The other boy's eyes were on him. He just stared, looking at Patroclus in a way he had never looked before. 

    "How dare you," Achilles said after a long time. "How dare you sit there and judge me. You spend all day hidden away in a tent, you have no idea what it is like out there and you have the audacity to judge what I do?"

    It was Patroclus' turn to stare. Guilt and shame and fear shone in his eyes as anger. "Judge you?" his voice cut. "How could I ever? What do I know? Blood makes you glorious. Without it you be nothing just like everyone else."

    Achilles held his gaze, and Patroclus jaw jutted out with defiance. 

    "I'm fighting for my country," Achilles said. "What are you fighting for?"

    "You," Patroclus shot back without hesitation.

    "God damn it, Patroclus," Achilles shouted, throwing the cloth in his hand into a basin. Water sloshed over the sides, spilling to the ground. "Why do you have to make this harder than it already is?"

     "Why should it be easy?" Patroclus cried. "This army is fighting for greed. Our country already owns a quarter of the world. Why does it need more?"

     "Stop it!" Achilles begged.

    "Why?" Patroclus shouted back. 

    "Because if I can't believe I'm fighting for nothing," he hollered. 

    "So, you'd rather kill for a lie?" Patroclus asked. Achilles said nothing. "What about honor?"

    Achilles neck was taut and his mouth turned downward. 

    "If they're not fighting with me, then their my enemy," he remarked coolly. 

    Patroclus looked into Achilles' eyes and it was like seeing into the cold hard eyes of a marble statue. He shivered. There was something familiar about those eyes. He had seen them before in a dream. The dark eyes of the Demon Achilles flashed in his mind. But then Achilles blinked and the demon was gone. He turned and stormed out of the tent. 

    Patroclus thought his heart had stopped. In his dream, Patroclus begged Achilles not to fight the monster that wore his face. 

     “If I lose to him, promise you’ll find me," Achilles had asked.

    “I thought you couldn’t lose,” Patroclus had said in response.  

    “Patroclus, promise." 

    Patroclus presently turned his eyes up to the heavens and let out a prayer. 

   "Please don't let me lose him," he begged the gods. "Please." 

    He hoped that they were listening. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Patroclus opened the flap of the medical tent and slowly made his way inside. Briseis was busy feeding soup to one of the soldiers. Patroclus folded his hands in front of him and stared at his feet. When she was done he followed her to a vacant corner of the tent. His eyes were still fixed on the ground in front of him. 

     "What?" she asked, her hand resting on her hip. Patroclus took in a shaky breath trying to figure out how to speak.

     "I'm sorry," he stuttered. He shook his head, feeling his eyes begin to water. "I'm so sorry."

    "Oh, honey," she sighed. She grabbed his neck and pulled him down to hug. 

    "You were right," he muttered into her shoulder. 

    "I didn't want to be," she said saddly. 

    "I feel myself losing him," he said. "I don't know how to find him again."

    "Just be with him," she said. "Remind him who he is."

    Patroclus' shoulders shook as he cried on her shoulder. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Achilles was sleeping when Patroclus went back to their tent. A day of fighting and a night of riding had left him exhausted. Patroclus sat down beside him. Achilles lay on his stomach, his arms tucked under his head. Patroclus pulled the blanket that was gathered at Achilles' waist up under his chin. Achilles snuggled into the blanket. 

     Patroclus caught sight of a corner of Damon's letter sticking out from under Patroclus' bedroll. He had forgotten all about it. He reached over Achilles and grabbed the white envelope. He ran his thumb over the Damon's name and address. He only hesitated a moment before he tore the envelope open. Patroclus' first thought was of how neat Damon's hand writing was.

 

Dear Patroclus:

I have arrived safely at home. You might be pleased to learn that you were right, Carmilia  _ did _ say yes. England is looking as beautiful as ever, maybe that is because I'm engaged to the most beautiful woman in the world. 

I hope everyone is okay. Is Antilochus? He hasn't responded to any of my letters. I hope he isn't still mad at me. 

Well, the real reason why I wrote is because I payed Achilles' parents a visit the other day. They are looking well. Achilles' father was particular interested to see how you and Achilles were doing. I told them you were fine. I told them of our first campaign as well. Peleus got very quiet when I told him, but Achilles' mother scoffed. She said it didn't matter that civilians died. As far as she was concerned if they're not fighting with you then they're an enemy. I got chills when she said that. She's always made me nervous. Well, I just thought you should know. 

\- Damon

 

    Patroclus' eyes scanned over the letter again. And then again. Thetis' cold words had reached him here. He could almost hear her graveling voice speak.  _ If they're not fighting with you then they're an enemy.  _ Patroclus cringed, knowing where he had heard that line before. 

    The letter crumpled in his hand as he turned to look at Achilles. He looked so peaceful in his sleep. He always had. Patroclus brushed the tangled blonde stands off of Achilles face. He leaned down and touched his lips to his forehead.

     "Don't worry," he whispered. "I won't let the monster beat you. I'll keep you safe. I promise."


	16. Chapter 16

     Patroclus suited up for the next mission. 

    "You're going?" Achilles asked as Patroclus sheathed his saber.

    "Yes," Patroclus told him. 

    "What about your wrist?" Patroclus ignored the hint of sarcasm in Achilles' voice.

    "It actually feels pretty good today," he answered. 

    The horse that Patroclus rode felt scrawny. He was nothing compared to Meadow. Patroclus thought his name was Charger or Charles or Champion, but he didn't know and he didn't bother to call the horse anything other than boy. 

    There mission was a simple one: scout ahead and find the enemy army. At first Patroclus thought the mission would easy- how hard could it be to spot an entire army?- but as the afternoon dragged on a significant opponent showed itself.

     A heavy fog crept over the land blinding the troops. They each rode through the eerie fog isolated in a cell of cloud, barely able to make out the person in front of them. 

     A memory flickered in Patroclus' mind. He had been very young, laying his head on his mother's lap, and had asked her where the fog came from. 

    "It is the breath of the spirits," she had answered him. 

    Along the road, tall pines stood black against the cloudy white fog. They stared ominously like hooded figures watching the troops march beneath them. 

     The fog lifted slightly by the time they had reached a small settlement. Wisps of the thin fog settled in between the tired buildings. The doors were barred and the shutters were locked. Very few people occupied the street. They rode in, the  _ clops _ of the horses echoed off the worn walls of the ghost town. 

     A high wind whistled. Patroclus clenched his jaw against the bitter cold. It was the kind of cold that made his teeth feel brittle and every part of his body stiffened. The cold was like a poltergeist that had possessed him, and settled in his lungs, freezing his blood to ice. 

     "Army! Ar-my," a soldier was shouting to a local man. The man had his back to a one story house, with a musket raised in his arms in warning. "God damn! Army!" The man's steel blue eyes stared back. There was no comprehension in them, only panic.

    "All right," the soldier said, sliding off his horse. He rested his thumb against his brow and exaggeratedly glanced around. "We're looking," the soldier tried, "for an army." He stiffened and began marching in place, trying to pantomime an army. 

    The man took a small step back, looking the soldier up and down with a confused expression and then shouted something in Russian. 

    "What's he saying," Achilles asked riding up. 

    "If I knew how to speak Russian do you think I would be making a complete fool of myself trying to communicate with this savage?" the soldier asked hotly. 

    Achilles rolled his eyes. "Does anyone understand this man?" he yelled. 

     "Jesus, where are looking for an army, got that?!" the soldier hollered at the man. The man yelled something back in Russian, he hired his gun. 

     "Army! Army!" the soldier screamed over the Russian. "Where is the army? How difficult is this?"  

      Both of their voices clashed like two opposing currents. They strained their voices higher and higher over each other to try to be heard. 

    "Stop it!" Achilles yelled at the soldier. "You're accomplishing nothing."

    "Where is your army?" the soldier continued. "You know army?" he lifted up his arms to pantomime shooting a musket. The Russian's eyes widened with fear. He called a warning, but the soldier didn't listen. Patroclus noticed the Russian cock the gun, but he wasn't quick enough to react to it. 

_ Boom! _

__ The noise stopped. The soldier stood, his eyes wide, patting himself up and down for a bullet hole. The Russian stared at the soldier in front of him, not moving. His blue eyes saw nothing. A bubble of red escaped from his closed lips. A stream of blood dribbled from his mouth and he slouched forward, falling to his knees, before he landed face down on the cold, hard ground. 

    Achilles' smoking gun was still pointing at the Russian. He turned to the soldier. 

    "Are you happy now?" he demanded from the soldier. The soldier opened his mouth to answer, but a high shriek cut him off. 

      The front door of the house busted open and a man wrapped in furs came running out, a large knife held high above his head. He let out a mournful cry, charging at Achilles. 

_     Boom! _

    The bullet went through his head, and he dropped backwards. Achilles' lids dropped so that his eyes were half open. He had almost a bored expression on his face. He walked over to the dead man. He knelt down and moved the furs that covered his face. The face was young. Smooth white marble skin framed his cold, dead blue eyes. Achilles' shoulders sagged slightly while his green eyes desperately searched the dead boy's face. He quickly stood. 

    "There's no army here," he said. "Move out."

   "Move out?" the soldier asked. "But they might know something."

    "I said move out," Achilles repeated coldly, climbing up on his horse. His eyes fell to the pistol in his hand. He took in a sharp breath and held it. He forced himself to look away from his pistol and  and slid it into its holster. He turned the Night and took the lead. Riding from behind, Patroclus could see how stiff the muscles were in his back. 

     "My scouts and I found an abandoned camp about a mile down that way," Odysseus said, pulling his silver mare beside  Achilles. "Did you find anything here?"

     "No, sir," Achilles responded quickly, turning to follow Odysseus in the direction of the abandoned camp. A fat raindrop landed on Achilles' shoulder bleeding into the fabric turning the crimson coat maroon. 

     The rain was falling more heavily by the time they reached the abandoned camp. Deep welts in the mud from boots and hooves were being slapped by raindrops, making the muddy water jump up. A low wind moaned to answer the cackle of the rain. 

      "We'll stop here, men," Odysseus hollered, pulling his horse to a stop.  

     Patroclus slid off his horse, his feet landing on the mucky ground with a sloppy  _ squish _ . The tents were wearily assembled by the men. The inside of Patroclus' tent was cold and dank; but there was a comfort in solitude it brought.

      Patroclus reached out to touch Achilles' arm, but the other boy shrugged it away.

    "Don't," Achilles whispered. "I don't deserve it." 

     He sunk to his knees, letting his head fall into his great hands. His downcasted shoulders didn't move. It didn't look like he was breathing. It didn't look like he was alive. An eternity passed like that. And then Achilles' voice broke. 

     "I murdered that boy," he choked out.

    Immediately all of Patroclus' composure fled. His eyebrows drew together like magnets and a tiny gasp escaped from his parted lips. 

    "Ohhh, no you didn't," he cried falling down beside Achilles. "That wasn't murder. He would have killed you."

     "He had a knife," Achilles said thickly. "You don't think I couldn't have simply taken it from him?"

 

     "He was charging at you like a lunatic," Patroclus defended. 

 

     "He was avenging his father," Achilles countered hotly. "Jesus, Patroclus, he couldn't have been older than fifteen. At fifteen, I hadn't even kissed you yet."

     "Achilles," Patroclus sighed desperately. 

    "No," Achilles interrupted. "Don't defend me. I'm tired of everyone saying what I do is okay. The general says it, the men say it, my mother says it. God, my mother says it so often I was beginning to believe her."

    "You know you're more than she thinks you are," Patroclus said.

    "Am I?" Achilles asked darkly. "Because she told me I was great. And aren't I? Aren't I great and terrible?"

     "No, you're not," Patroclus answered him defiantly. 

     "Yes I am!" Achilles shouted, beginning to tremble, tears streaking his face. "What do you think my father would say if he saw me today?"

    Patroclus looked into Achilles' mind and saw Peleus' old face struck with pride then morph into distaste and then fear. He shuddered at the image. Achilles turned his face away from Patroclus and looked at his hands folded on his lap. 

     "It's just, I know how much you hate it here," Achilles said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I thought that if I could be the best then maybe you would think coming would have been worth it. And then you started to spend all of your time with _ her  _ and I tried so hard to get your attention, but you never noticed. Everyone else did."

     "Achilles," Patroclus tried.

     "Please, Patroclus, I have to say this," Achilles interrupted, his lip trembling. He took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry. I just couldn't have you hate me."

      "I could never," Patroclus promised, pulling Achilles close to him. 

     "I'm a monster," Achilles whinned.

    "No you're not."

    "Don't lie to me," he whimpered. "I saw it in your eyes the day we fought." Patroclus couldn't think of what to say. He looked into Achilles' hurt eyes, pooling with tears while his tongue lay flat in his mouth. 

     "Do you remember that day in the woods?" he finally asked. "Before the first battle?" Achilles slowly nodded. "You told me that you wouldn't let anyone take me away from you. Well, I'm not going let anyone take you away from me, either. You are not a monster, baby, I promise. And I would die before I would let them turn you into one."

     A sound of tortured relief escaped from Achilles' mouth. He nestled his head into Patroclus' lap and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

         "You're the only thing that keeps me good," he said, his voice staggering. 

     Patroclus took in a shaky breath, and laced his fingers through Achilles hair. He turned his watery eyes up, looking past the dingy tent ceiling and the clouds, to see something that wasn't there. His heart knocked in his chest as Achilles whimpered on his lap, threatening to burst. 

     Why does love feel so heavy? Isn't it supposed to sprinkle down on you like snowflakes? Instead it slams right into your chest. It almost feels dangerous. Like something dark surging deep from within. Maybe it's like medicine. It should be felt in short bursts of laughter and affection. To OD is to go mad. Too much is frightening. It's suffocating. Like feeling a heartbreak before your heart has cracked. 

    To love. Why do it? Maybe because we can't help it. Maybe because we live for the thrill of it ending. There is a certain beauty in tragedy after all. Or maybe it's because it is easy. We love him because he loves us back. Seeing his wounded eyes and desperation make us easy prey. We gladly walk headfirst to our doom, we lay on the altar that he is to slaughter us on because when it comes to him we are helpless. And it hurts. Of course it does. But isn't that what love is?

 


	17. Chapter 17

Patroclus figured it was time to address the second part of Damon's letter. He hadn't seen much of Antilochus since Damon had left. When he wasn't on the field Antilochus was in his tent doing God knows what. 

     "Antilochus?" Patroclus called, cautiously peeking into his tent. "Oh, God!" Patroclus immediately brought his hand to his nose to block out the stench that enveloped him as he entered Antilochus' tent. It reeked like vomit and hard liquor. 

      "Close that damn tent flap, will you? You're letting in too much damn sun," Antilochus cried. He let out a loud hiccup. "Patroclus? What are you doing here?"

     "I came to talk to you," Patroclus answered. "Oh my God, Antilochus you know you're not supposed to be drinking." Antilochus hiccuped again.

     "I'd like to see someone stop me," he slurred. "Please don't tell me you came to lecture me on temperance."

     "Actually, I'm here to talk to you about Damon."

    "Ugggggg," Antilochus groaned, sipping something dark out of a flask. "No."

    "Have you been getting his letters?" Patroclus asked. 

    "All eight of them."

    "Have you answered any of them yet?"

      Antilochus snorted. "I'd have to read them first."

    "You haven't even read them yet? Why not?" Patroclus gasped.

    "Why should I? I know what they say. They're all about how happy he is with his  _ precious _ new wife and better life. Gods, spare me," Antilochus moaned, bringing the flask back up to his lips. 

    "He's worried about you, you know," Patroclus told him. "Don't you think he deserves to hear that you're okay?"

    "He deserves nothing from me!" Antilochus cut, abruptly yanking the flask from his mouth. The whiskey sloshed over the mouth. "If he wanted to know how I am he wouldn't have left!"

    "Oh my God! Antilochus, you can't be mad at him for going home. He was wounded."

    "He was weak!" Antilochus snapped. "He never took this war seriously and he left me the first chance he got!"

    "Left you?" Patroclus asked gently, his brow touched with concern.

    "Left _ it _ . I said he left it," Antilochus said. "The war."

    "For Carmila," Patroclus said. 

    "Yeah, for Carmila." Antilochus spat her name out of his mouth like it was something foul. "But see if I care. They both can just go to hell. I don't need him. I don't need anyone." He took another swing of his drink. 

     "Antilochus, he didn't leave anyone. If he didn't care, why would he write to you so much?" Patroclus asked.

    "I don't know. To save face. I just know if he really cared he would be here." Antilochus' mouth drew down and his lips pursed. It was the closest Patroclus had ever seen him come to crying. 

    "That's not true," Patroclus said. 

    "The hell it isn't," Antilochus snapped. "Not that you would understand."

   "What's that supposed to mean?" Patroclus asked. 

    "What do you think. You and Achilles have been mooning over each other your whole lives. Damon was the only person I've ever had. For some reason he was able to tolerate me. But now he's moved on and I have no one."

    "He hasn't moved on," Patroclus pointed out. "He writes to you religiously. Do yourself a favor and write back."

    "But I don't want to hear about his happy life without me," Antilochus whinned. 

    "Who knows," Patroclus suggested, "he could be just as miserable as you." Antilochus sniffled. 

     "You think?" he asked hopefully. Patroclus shrugged. 

    "I don't know. I haven't read the letters," he said, turning to leave. "Oh yeah, I also  came to tell you that we're getting ready to head out. So, you better sober up."

     Antilochus stared at Patroclus, an uncommon expression of gratitude twisted in his fine features. Patroclus glanced around the bleak tent.

     "Um, Antilochus, are you okay? Did you hear what I just said?"

     "I've made up my mind," Antilochus said dramatically, falling into Patroclus, hanging on him in a clumsy attempt to hug him. "I'll read the letter. But I won't promise to answer them."

     "Um, that's okay," Patroclus said, awkwardly patting Antilochus' back. His eyes began to water from his smell. 

     "Thank you, Patroclus," Antilochus whispered. "Thanks so m-  _ cunk. _ " Antilochus pulled back, rubbing a dribble of puke from his chin. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's never happened before."

     "It's okay," Patroclus said, trying not look at the glob of vomit Antilochus had just spit up on his coat. "Just glad I could be here for you."

     "Oh, man, I'm really sorry," Antilochus tried. Patroclus lifted his hand.

     "Really it's fine. I'm just going to clean this off of me," Patroclus said, giving Antilochus a quick pat on the shoulder. 

     "I'm really sorry," Antilochus mumbled as Patroclus left. 

     Patroclus slithered out of his jacket, trying not to let the vomit touch him. He ignored the chill as he squatted beside a thin creek and began to clean his coat. 

     "That jacket's going to freeze if you dip it into that water," a soldier shaving beside Patroclus said. 

    "Probably, but I'd rather have a frozen jacket than one smelling like puke," Patroclus said. The frigid water laced through his fingers as he rubbed the stiff fabric together The man laughed. 

    "Tough choice. I'd go with a jacket that reeked like puke. I hate being cold," he replied, flicking shaving cream off of his razor and into the creek. 

    "Then why are you shaving?" Patroclus asked. "Wouldn't a beard keep you warm?"

    "My beard did keep me warm," the man answered. "But all the bloody rain got it wet and froze the hairs on my face. I figured it was time for it to- hey, did you see that?"

    "See what?" Patroclus asked, turning to look over his shoulder.

    "There," the man pointed, "in the woods I saw a light. Like sun bouncing off of a mirror."

    Patroclus strained his gaze. "I don't see anything," he admitted. The man tossed down his razor and stood up, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. 

     "Could of swore I saw something," he muttered to himself, moving closer to the woods. He disappeared behind a thick guard of trees. Patroclus leaned forward, trying to make the soldier out against the stalk bulk of rough bark. 

     There was silence. The forest was still as though the soldier had simply faded away. Only snippets of red showed through the dense trees. Then:

     "Spy!" There was a rustle in the woods and soldier called the ugly word out again. "Spy!"

     Any soldier that had not heard him the first time certainly heard the man now. Patroclus jumped to his feet and ran towards the woods. The soldier emerged, holding a Russian at gunpoint, leading him into the camp. The soldier's lip was split, but the wound looked painless next to the gash that ran across the spy's forehead. 

    "It's okay, I got him," the soldier said.

    "What's going on here?" Odysseus asked. 

   "I found a Russian spy, sir," the soldier said, forgetting himself to salute the colonel. The Russian took advantage of the moment. He slammed his shoulder into the soldier's chest and sprang back towards the woods. 

    Maybe if he had been brought into any other camp the spy would have been able to escape. Maybe if he knew the speed built inside of Achilles' legs he wouldn't have tried to run in the first place. But he did run, and he wasn't able to escape because Achilles had pounced on him, pinning him into the dirt with his knees.

    "Where do you think you're going?" Achilles asked, hoisting the man to his feet. He dragged the man to Odysseus. "What are we going to do with him?"

    "Tie him up, we'll take him to General Atrides," Odysseus said. He turned to the men. "Show's over, men, go back to packing up. Now!" 

     The crowd dispersed and tents were taken down. The spy had his hands and feet bound. Achilles threw him over his lap as he rode the Night. It was dark before they men reached the rest of the army. 

     "Did you find out where they're hiding their army?" Agamemnon asked, bursting out of his tent. Odysseus slide off of his horse and saluted him. 

     "Yes, sir. We found a freshly abandoned camp. Their tracks head east," he informed. Agamemnon's bushy eyebrows lowered as he considered this. 

     "Good," he said at last. "That means there is only one more artillary fort between us and them. If we can take that out they won't have anything left to supply them. Come, Colonel Laertiades, we have to plan."

     "Not yet," Odysseus said. "We found more than a camp while we were scouting."

     At his que, Achilles jumped off his horse, pulling the spy down. The spy fell onto his knees. Achilles stuffed one hand under his armpit to hold the spy up. The Russian glared up at Agamemnon with a defiant look in his black eyes. 

      "A spy," Agamemnon observed.

     "What do you want to do with him, sir?" Achilles asked. 

    "I doubt he speaks English," Odysseus commented. "Useless for questioning."

    "Kill him," Agamemnon said flattly. Achilles brow furrowed.

    "Sir?"

    "I said, kill him," Agamemnon repeated, tossing a pistol to Achilles. Achilles caught the gun against his stomach. He held it out with both hands and stared at it. 

    "Are you deaf?" Agamemnon asked. "I gave you an order."

    Achilles' eyes shifted from the gun to Agamemnon. His eyes turned hard. He clenched his jaw and extended his arm forward taking aim at the spy's head, with his thumb he slowly cocked the gun. The spy turned his eyes up to stare directly at the barrel. 

    "Do it," he challenged in a thick Russian accent. He spit a glob of saliva onto the ground. "I'm not afraid to die."

    Achilles' arm dropped. Only a centimeter. Patroclus slide off his horse, his heart was pounding. He could see the memory forming in Achilles' mind. It was of four boys playing war. One soldier had a stick raised, ready to execute a prisoner. A large hand grabbed the stick. 

     "A good man shows mercy," a large man had said. 

    "A good man shows mercy," Achilles presently whispered under his breath. Patroclus cautiously took a step forward. Achilles met his eyes. He didn't need to speak. Patroclus knew what he was thinking. Achilles dropped his arm and turned to Agamemnon.

     "There's no honor in this," he said. 

    "Excuse me?" the general asked. 

    "There is no honor in killing a defenseless man."

    "I don't care if it's honorable or not. I gave you an order. Now kill him!" Agamemnon demanded.

    "No."

   "No?" A vein began to bulge on the side of Agamemnon's forehead.

   "No," Achilles repeated. "I won't do it." He shoved the gun back into Agamemnon's hands. The general's hostile eyes flickered from the gun to Achilles. His whole face was red now and his nostrils flared. 

    "You would defy a direct order!" he hollered. 

    "You're not a god," Achilles spat. "And I don't have to please you." Agamemnon's eyes roared with fire. He lifted the pistol and aimed it directly at Achilles. Achilles looked unimpressed. 

    "You know who my mother is," he said. "We both know you can't touch me." Achilles turned his back to him and began to walk away. Agamemnon shifted his arm, not taking his eyes off of Achilles, and shot the spy in the head. 

_     Boom! _

    The man landed with a sickening thud. Patroclus clasped his hand over his mouth to keep from crying out. His knees felt weak as the ruby blood lapped at his toes. His eyes jumped to Achilles. The boy was frozen. It was almost impossible to see the hurricane building inside of him. Agamemnon stared at his back, a sadistically smug smile smeared on his face, urging him to turn around. But he didn't. Achilles walked off, never giving Agamemnon the satisfaction of seeing his face. 

    "Come, Laertiades," Agamemnon said once Achilles was out of sight. "We have strategy to plan. 

     Patroclus could feel bile build up in the back of his throat as he stared at the broken corpse. 

    "Are you just going to leave him here?" he asked softly. He felt an arm snake around his shoulders. 

    "Don't let it bother you, son," Odysseus said to him. "It'll make it harder if you do. I'll send for someone to go bury him. You go after your friend."

    Patroclus turned to stare at the unusual soft blue eyes of his colonel. He didn't understand the unfamiliar humanity in them. 

   "Okay," he said, walking away, feeling uneasy at the mournful eyes that followed him. 

   Patroclus waited. Then he waited some more. At first the anticipation that weighed on his stomach had felt corrosive. But then a sudden patience took hold of him. So, he kept waiting. Achilles had been gone for two hours. But he would be back. Patroclus just had to sit in their tent and wait for him. 

   When Achilles did come back, his hair was tangled and the rims of his eyes were as red as the blood on his knuckles. Patroclus clicked his tongue. He grabbed Achilles' hands between his own and gently pulled him to the ground. Carefully he wiped the blood off of Achilles' knuckles with a rag. Achilles said nothing. There was nothing on his face, either. No anger, no hate. 

    "I know you're mad about what happened, but did you really have to take it out on the trees?" Patroclus asked, picking a twig out of Achilles' hair. Achilles didn't smile. "You know, what you did was very brave."

    Achilles let out a sound that could have been a cross between a snort and a whimper. Patroclus rubbed his thumb over Achilles' split knuckle before putting the rag aside. Achilles grasped for Patroclus' hand as he moved it. Patroclus turned to look into Achilles' eyes for the first time. 

     "I almost didn't," Achilles admitted. "I almost shot him."

    "What stopped you?" Patroclus asked softly.

    "You," Achilles whispered, he turned Patroclus' palm over and traced the old scar the stretched across his brown skin. A tear fell onto his skin. "I imagined what you would think if I killed him and it scared me."

    "I thought you weren't afraid of anything," Patroclus said gently.

    "I'm afraid of you," Achilles said, his voice hitching. His eyes flickered into Patroclus'. "The way you see right through me and make me vulnerable. Patroclus, you're my only weakness."

    Patroclus smiled. "That's funny," he said, reaching over to caress Achilles' cheek. "I've always thought of you as my only strength."

     "Ohh," Achilles whimpered, falling into Patroclus' mouth. Their lips lingered over each other in a soft kiss. 

     "Patroclus," Achilles whispered, leaning his forehead against him. Patroclus squeezed his eyes shut, feeling only Achilles' breath and the flutter in his chest. 

     "Yes?"

     "I love you."

    "I love you, too," he whispered back, lacing his fingers into Achilles hair. He couldn't keep his breath steady.

    "Patroclus, will you, um," Achilles hesitated. "Will you take me?" Patroclus opened his eyes to see Achilles' flaming green eyes. They were the only thing Patroclus could see. Those eyes were the world. 

     "Of course," Patroclus answered, sliding his hands to Achilles' hips. Achilles kissed Patroclus again, his tongue tasting every part of his mouth. Patroclus trembled as his body filled with warmth. 

     Carefully, Patroclus pulled Achilles' grey trousers down over his hips. Achilles moved over Patroclus, straddling him between his muscled thighs as he tenderly brushed his lips over Patroclus' neck and collarbone. They shrugged off the rest of their clothes and Patroclus pulled Achilles closer to him. He needed to feel the him. Achilles slid their bare chests together, backing himself into Patroclus. 

     Patroclus gasped feeling Achilles around him. He moaned into his lover's hot mouth. Achilles was his drink of life and Patroclus wanted to intoxicate himself with the taste. The world could shatter around him as long as he had this. His mind touching heaven while his body touched a god. 

     Patroclus dug his nails into his blanket. His eyes rolled back and he spasmed under Achilles' moving body. He uttered Achilles name and just hearing the sweet syllables made him want to weep. He wanted to sheild his eyes in fear the sight of this boy would melt him to the bone.

    Achilles dipped into him again and again. Patroclus could feel ever part of his lover's trembling body. They rode together higher and higher, and in the heat of their passion they became one.

     Afterwards, Achilles heavy body fell on top of Patroclus. He was like an anchor holding Patroclus down on earth. If he hadn't there Patroclus might have floated off, past the stars and the heavens to a  new world entirely. Patroclus encircled his arms around Achilles sweaty body, holding him so close he could feel the other boy's heart beat.

    "Do you love me?" Achilles asked between his ragged breaths.

    "Forever," Patroclus sighed before Achilles could fall back onto his mouth.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to post this. I've been busy with school and re-watching Grey's Anatomy. But thank you for sticking to this fic for so long. It makes me all warm inside that so many people like my writing.

      Cool lips gently pressed onto Patroclus' bare chest, fluttering like butterflies against his skin. The unbearably raw sensation that had seized him the night before had simmered down leaving his body with the sweet afterglow of his passion.  Patroclus opened his heavy eyelids to see Achilles' crown of golden hair bob up and down as he left Patroclus' chest with a trail of light kisses. Patroclus laced his fingers through that soft and tangled hair to bring Achilles' lips up to meet his own. He sighed into Achilles' mouth as the other boy breathed him in, bunching the cotton cloth of Achilles' shirt into his fist. 

     "You're already dressed," Patroclus observed, pulling back. 

     "Well, I've been up for a while," Achilles admitted. 

     "Gods, do you ever sleep?" Patroclus teased. 

     "Yes," Achilles told him, his lips curling into a grin. "I slept really well last night. You make a fantastic pillow."

      "Oh, do I?" Patroclus chuckled. 

     "Mmm," Achilles hummed. He let out a heavy sigh that took his smile away. He began to trace circles into Patroclus' side. "I have to go to a meeting to talk about strategy." Patroclus nodded. "But I don't want to go."

      "I know," Patroclus told him, taking his hand. 

      "I'm still angry."

     "You have every right to be."

     "It's just what the Commander did was so-"

     "-undignified."

    "And completely-"

    "-out of line."

    "And I-"

    "-handled the situation with class." 

    The corner of Achilles' lip tugged up. "That wasn't what I was going to say," he said.

    Patroclus smiled. "I know." He ran his thumb over Achilles' knuckle, unable to look away from Achilles' bright green eyes. Achilles smiled softly to himself. 

    "Are you planning on laying in bed all day?" he teased.

    "Well, I was, but I suppose I'll get up. That is, if you really want me to," Patroclus answered. 

    "Oh, will you, wise guy?" Achilles asked leaning down. 

    "Mmhmm," Patroclus giggled before Achilles pressed their lips together. 

    "I love you," Achilles told him, somberly.

    "I love you more," Patroclus promised. "Go to your meeting. I'll be here when you get back."

     "Okay," Achilles mumbled, nodding into Patroclus' shoulder. 

     "And, Achilles, remember," Patroclus piped in, draping one of his arms around Achilles' body, "it doesn't matter what the commander might do or say to you today. You've already proved that you're a better man."

     Achilles lifted his heavy body off of Patroclus so that he could gaze into the other boy's large brown eyes. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     The gauze in Briseis' hands fell onto the ground when she saw Patroclus enter the medical tent.

     "Patroclus," she gasped, running towards him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a tight hug. "Thank God. I thought something might have happened to you."

      "No, I'm okay," Patroclus told her. She pulled back from him and slammed her palm into his chest. 

     "Why didn't you come and see me last night, huh?" she asked.

    "Sorry, something came up," Patroclus answered rubbing the spot where she had hit him. A smile stretched over her delicate face. 

     "Something came up," she mocked. "Really, how can live with yourself worrying a woman in my condition?"

     "Well, there was this terrible- wait, what do you mean your condition?" Patroclus asked. 

     He hadn't thought it was possible for Briseis smile to grow any bigger, but it did as she glance down to look at her hand which rested carefully over her stomach. Patroclus clasped his hand over his mouth. 

     "Briseis, are you..." he started. She nodded vigorously. "Oh, my God. Congratulations. Wait are you sure?"

     "Of course I'm sure," she snorted. 

     "Well, you have to sit down. You can't be working," he fussed, leading her to a chair. 

    "I'm fine," she swore with a tiny laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair. 

     "Does Gabrial know?" Patroclus asked eagerly, kneeling beside her. 

    "Of course he does," she told him. "And you would have too if you had stopped by to see me last night."

     "Oh, Briseis, I'm so sorry. It's just... something came up. It's kind of a long story," he said sheepishly. 

     "It's okay," she said gently. "I'm only teasing. But I do worry about you."

    "You don't have to, you know, I'll be fine," Patroclus assured. 

    "You have to go out again, don't you?"

    Patroclus nodded. "Sometime this afternoon." It was Briseis' turn to nod. 

    "I thought so," she said saddly. 

    "I'll be back in a few days," Patroclus tried to tell her. 

    "I know," she told him. "But I won't be."

    "What?" Patroclus asked, his eyes widening.

   "Patroclus, I can't be working in a military tent while I'm pregnant," she said.

    "Oh yeah, duh, of course. I'm sorry," he babbled.

    "But just because I'm not here to keep an eye on you doesn't mean that you act reckless. I am taking my expertise back to England you know," she said, running her fingers through Patroclus' hair. 

     "I'll be fine," Patroclus said her. 

    "You better be," she told him. "I have something for you." She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a silver chain that looped through a tiny musket ball.

     "Briseis is this...?" Patroclus started.

     "It is," she informed. "I hope you don't mind. You lost it here a couple of days ago and I remember you telling me it was lucky. I just don't want you to lose it again."

     "It's fine. Thank you. But how did you get a chain through it?" Patroclus asked, squinting at the necklace.

      "Now, I can't give away all my secrets," she said, clasping the necklace around Patroclus' neck. He picked up the musket ball and examined it carefully.

    "You know, I'm going to miss you," he told Briseis.

   "Nonsense," she snorted. "You're family. You can come by and see me anytime when you get home. By then this little baby should be born." Briseis smiled at her tummy. 

    "Do you have a name picked out, yet?" Patroclus asked. 

   "Well, I was think Gabrial if it is a boy. Or maybe Eukarus after my late brother. I don't have any girl names in mind though." 

     "You could call her Philomela," Patroclus said. 

    "What?"

    "It was my mother's name," Patroclus blushed. Briseis smiled to herself.

    "I think it's beautiful," she told him. "If it's a girl I'll call her Philomela. And she'll need her Uncle Patroclus around to tell her what a fine lady she was named after. So, you better be safe."

   "How many times do I have to tell you that I'll be fine?" Patroclus asked gently. 

   "Until I see it come true," Briseis whispered. 

    Outside, the men began to rustle like fall leaves in a storm. Trumpets blasted and shouts were raised above the noise of men gearing up.

     "I didn't think we'd have to be leaving so soon," Patroclus said urgently, looking from the tent flap to Briseis. "I thought we'd have more time."

    "We'll have time when you get back," Brisies told him, swiping a tear from under her eye. "Now go. I'm terrible at good-byes."

    "This isn't goodbye," Patroclus assured, pulling Briseis into a deep embrace. 

    "I know. Now got out of here before they leave without you."

   Patroclus planted a light kiss on her cheek before leaving the tent to be greeted by the bitter cold. He scurried to his tent, fumbling with his uniform until he was geared up and ready to go.  

    "So, I guess your meeting went well," Patroclus observed as he pulled his brown mare next to Achilles.

     "I survived it," Achilles responded, switching the Night's leather reins from one hand to the other.  

   The line of horses split. Patroclus watched Agamemnon take about three hundred men and head off in a separate direction. Patroclus didn't ask where they were going. The remaining cavalry pressed forward. 

   At mid-morning the men had left, riding out in neat rows, but by the time they approached their new encampment the sun had dipped and rows had blurred. A mass mob of red coated men on horseback greeted the frenzied camp. Patroclus didn't recognize the soldiers that they met up with. The men at the camp were all strangers dressed in blue. 

    "Where are you from?" Patroclus asked one of the soldiers during dinner. A small group of men dressed in both blue and red sat around a campfire sharing a pot of gruel. 

     "We just moved in from the south," one of the blue soldiers answered. "We arrived maybe three weeks ago. How long have you been here?"

     "Four months," Antilochus, sitting three soldiers down from Patroclus, answered. 

     "My God," the blue soldier exclaimed. "You men are braver than I am. Barely a month and I'm ready leave. We ran into some Russian scouts a few days ago, we cleaned them up good, but damn, what a fight they put up. It's like they're not even human."

    "Well, they do have the advantage of home turf," another soldier in blue piped in. 

    "More than that," the first soldier gasped. "It's like they've adapted to not feel the cold. The Mati are the same way in the Sudan. I thought it was a blessing when I got to leave that desert to be stationed here. But I tell you, I miss that sand box."

     "They're not too scary," Antilochus said. "They bleed just the same as any man when you shoot them. You'll see when we fight them tomorrow."

    "All the same," the soldier said, tossing a greasy cup of coffee into the fire. "I suppose tomorrow is a good a day as any to die."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      "The plan is simple," Achilles said, lying naked next to Patroclus. He placed his hand on Patroclus' abdomen. "The artillery battery is right here at the far end of a valley." He moved his hand up, resting it on Patroclus' sternum. "We are going right here to sneak up behind them. While the commander is moving his men over here on a hill." Achilles touched Patroclus' rib cage. "Together we are going to ride and chase the battery far, far away," Achilles said sliding his hand down Patroclus' stomach, past his navel, to his-

    "Okay," Patroclus squeaked, his hips jerking from Achilles' touch. "I think I get it."

    "Are you sure?" Achilles asked, a wicked smile on his face, he cupped Patroclus into his hand. "I can go over the plan again."

    "That isn't necessary, I got it," Patroclus said, squirming under Achilles' expert grasp. 

    "If you say so," Achilles mumbled, nibbling on Patroclus' ear. 

    "You're not going to let me get any sleep tonight, are you?" Patroclus moaned. 

    "Not if I can help it," Achilles said, swinging his leg over Patroclus, pulling the boy in closer. Patroclus gasped and turned to press his forehead against Achilles'.

     "What do you want to do when we get out?" he asked. 

    "What do you mean?" Achilles asked, smiling. 

    "When we're done with the army," Patroclus said. "I don't think we've ever talked about that before." Achilles' brow scrunched up as he thought, causing the bridge of his nose to crease a little. 

     "I don't really know," he admitted. "I haven't thought too much about it. But I guess we'll find another adventure. This time it'll be your turn to decide where we go. We can travel the world. Anything you want. I'll follow you." 

     "What if I want to do something boring?" Patroclus asked, raising a brow in question. 

    "Impossible," Achilles said. "I only ask that whatever we do, it is as far away from this place as possible."

    "You have a deal," Patroclus laughed, giving Achilles a light peck. 

    "So, what do you want to do?" 

    "I think I want to save our money and buy a little house."

     "Where?"

    "We'll go somewhere far away where no one can find us or turn us in. Would you want that?" Patroclus asked.  

    "Why wouldn't I?"

    "If you go into hiding, who will remember your glory?" 

    "You will," Achilles said. "Besides, history will hold a place for me. I don't need to stay in the limelight to be remembered. And I don't want to. I want to spend my forever with you."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Patroclus' whole body was stiff the next morning as he rode. He wasn't used to the motion of the horse below him. And his neck ached too, for no apparent reason. The blue soldiers groaned and mumbled as they rode, not yet used to the cold. Some of the red soldiers complained, too. But mostly the men were charged with excitement. Despite the cold and the fatigue, it is almost impossible to escape the charge that pulses through a soldier heading into battle. 

    Patroclus felt his chest pounded with the beat of the hooves. It was like riding a wave. He rolled with the wave of men that pushed him further and further. A rumbling of hooves pounded against the uneven terrain. The earth seemed to roll and contour as though she was taking in a breath. The soldiers drew closer and closer to the horizon, leaving behind them a cloud of brown dust. Soon they would be upon their enemy. 

      Patroclus squeezed his thighs and his horse sped up taking him near the front of the line. He laced his finger through the chain of his necklace, feeling the musket ball bounce lightly against his chest as he rode. 

    His eyes fell intently on Achilles as he pulled up behind him. There was something almost spiritual about the way Achilles rode, and Patroclus wanted to witness it. The Night moved as swiftly as his rider, his powerful black legs carrying Achilles closer and closer to his destiny. Upon the Night Achilles rode, shoulders squared, his glowing yellow hair shining like a second sun against the grey sky. What a sight to see. Myths and legends would sing praises of this boy. They would sing about his courage. His stoicism. His gleam. 

    Then they halted. The mass of men stumbling from the sudden deceleration. 

     "This is wrong," Achilles whispered under his breath. 

    Patroclus glanced over the open field, his brows scrunching in confusion. At the edge of the valley there was supposed to be a dwindling artillery battery, an easy target to run off. But there wasn't. Instead Patroclus stared into the black eyes of a hundred cannons. The fort was too strong. It was manned by too many men. 

     "This is wrong," Achilles whispered again, his horse moving back an inch. 

    "Are we in the right place?" Patroclus asked, quietly.

    "Of course," Achilles said, shaking his head. "I didn't read the coordinates wrong."

    "Maybe the coordinates were wrong then," Odysseus said, pulling closer to boys. 

    "What?" 

    "Mistakes have been made before," Odysseus pointed out.

    "Will the Commander have us charge?" Achilles asked. Achilles followed Odysseus’ glance up along the hills of the valley. In the distance Agamemnon's small figure was seen atop one of the high hills, nestled on his horse between two captains. Despite their profound distance Achilles' unyielding eyes met the Commander's gaze. Hours could have passed, though it must have only been a few seconds before Agamemnon turned away to ride off. Achilles' urgent eyes chased after the commander until he was no longer in sight. 

     "I think we're on our own," Odysseus said, pulling back. Achilles' chin fell into his heaving chest.

     A hollow silence fell over the men as they felt the weight of their abandonment. God, the silence was strong. Patroclus could hear the soft crunch of the grass as his horse shifted beneath him. 

    "Do we leave?" he heard himself ask. 

   "No," Achilles said, lifting his head. He turned his horse and faced the restless men. "Soldiers! Comrades! Raise your sabers. I say, raise your sabers. Does a good man abandoned his post? Does a good man abandoned his men? No! I don't know if I am a good man or not, but I can promise you I will not leave you. Does our enemy expect us to fear their canons? We are Queen's men and we fear nothing. Legends are born from men like us. So, grab your reins, for you have to cross through hell to be scorched with the flames of eternal glory! Who's with me?"

     Achilles unsheathed his saber, thrusting it high above his head. He gazed desperately at his men and waited until one by one each soldier lifted their sword.  _ Shing. _ The blades sang in the silence, their shining metal glowing in Achilles' eyes. The boy glanced over to look at Patroclus. A tiny smile touched Patroclus' lips as he unsheathed his saber. Patroclus had never considered himself to be religious. War and hatred- how could there be a God? But looking at Achilles- a deity amongst men- Patroclus decided if he was to believe in anything, he would believe in him. Achilles turned around, his strong muscles rippling as he pointed his shining blade. 

     "Ride!"


	19. Chapter 19

"Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them, 

Cannon in front of them... 

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred."

            ---Alfred Tennyson, "The Charge of the Light Brigade"

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

     The earth trembled under the unyielding torrent of heavy hooves, but did nothing to stop it. She only waited. For the carnage. For the cries. For the blood of the fallen to sink into her thirsty soil. 

    The men waited, too. And they trembled. Patroclus trembled, only he couldn't feel himself shake. He squeezed his thighs and rode faster. He rode into a thick and massive wall of dust that made his eyes red and his throat sting. He licked his lips. Then licked them again. And he was sweating. Why was he sweating, it was so cold? But he was and the sweat slithered into his red eyes making it hard to see. 

     But he didn't notice the sweating or the trembling. How could he? All he could notice was the noise. The horrifying clangor that bellowed in his ears and made his brain split. Nothing scared his more than the noise. The indistinguishable mesh of hooves and shouts and gunfire. It bombarded him from all angles; there could be no escape. He just had to ride through it. Ride faster and faster. If he could just take down the enemy fort then the noise could stop. And his heart would stop pounding. And the bile in his throat would stop rising. And the fear would stop. He just needed it to stop. 

_       Booom! _

_      Booom! _

_     Booom! _

__ The deep baritone of canon fire distinguished itself from the noise and the raining bullets. Patroclus had read about rain storms of bullets. He had read about them so many times it had become clichè. Bullets. Rain. There had to be a better metaphor. 

    But the bullets were like rain. And like raindrops they fell everywhere in an endless supply. Only by luck did Patroclus not get shot. 

     But the man in front of him got shot. 

     And he saw Antilochus get shot. 

    He saw him fall from his horse. Maybe he survived the shot, but he wouldn't survive the stampede that was accelerating towards him. 

     Patroclus' breath quickened and his chest squeezed.  _ Make it stop. Just please make it stop.  _ But how can you make the rain stop? You can't. You can only ride through it- and look for the sun. 

    Where was his sun? Where was Achilles? Patroclus searched; eyes darting urgently around the chaotic field. There. He was right there. Patroclus could see Achilles mounted on the Night, leading his stallion towards the fort. Achilles rode like a panther; swift and lethal. And for a moment he was the only thing Patroclus could notice. Achilles would stop the rain. And the noise. He would take all the fear away. 

_ Booom!  _

     His attention snapped back to the chaos. He kicked his heels into the horse's sides, steering him towards Achilles. He thrashed violently on the horse, jerking back and forth, back and forth, back and-

_ Booom! _

    A cannon exploded; limbs flew everywhere. The horse reeled back in terror. The world tipped underneath Patroclus. Gravity yanked him down.  _ Bumph. _

    "Ahhh," Patroclus cried out on impact. He curled up on his side. Pain shot up his spine. 

The ground beneath him was rumbling.

_ Booom! _

   Another canon. This one was close. He needed to get up. He had to stop the canon and then find Achilles.

   Weakly, he lifted his heavy head. There was a cannon in front of him, so close he could see into its black eye. So close he was out of its range. Four soldiers and a two foot wall stood between him and the cannon. He could easily take it. 

    Carefully, he crawled to cannon. Holding the hilt of his sabor between his teeth, he used his free hand to unstrap his helmet. When he was close enough, he swung his arm around and threw his helmet. It hit one of the enemy soldiers. He sprang up. In a single motion he managed to stab his saber into the soldier's belly and pull out his pistol. 

_ Bang! _

    One soldier down. He hit the first soldier in the nose with the butt of his pistol. The soldier fell to the ground, slowly sliding off of Patroclus' sabor. Two soldiers down. 

    The element of surprise was gone. In seconds there was a pair of large hands around his throat. Patroclus' kneed his assailant in the groin. Then he cut him across the chest with a tiny blade he kept strapped to his side. Three soldiers down. 

    The fourth soldier came at him. Patroclus punched him in the jaw. His fist had no effect. The soldier retaliated. Patroclus fell to his knees beside the cannon with a bloody nose. He had to dismantle the cannon. But how? 

    The soldier lifted him by the collar and punched him again. Patroclus fell back down. He could spike the cannon. Peleus had told him about that. He would just have to wedge something into the touch hole of the cannon. If he was successful there would be no way to feed a fuse into the gun. With no fuse the cannon would be useless. 

    The soldier lifted Patroclus again. But this time the boy was ready. He shoved his blade into the soldier's jugular. Fourth soldier down. The man hadn't seen it coming. Patroclus fell from his grasp and jammed his blade into the touch hole of the cannon. 

    He got to his feet, using the cannon as support. His head was spinning. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe the blood off of his face. He had to get to Achilles. He had to. Patroclus squeezed his eyes to try and get the spots in his vision to disappear. 

     His face and side ached. He moved around the cannon. Achilles was less than seventy feet away. He was on his feet, sabor raised to block an enemy sword. Swiftly, Achilles managed to out maneuver his enemy. A single twist of his wrist and Achilles had the Russian on his back, a saber in his gut, wriggling in his closing moments of life. 

     Urgently, Patroclus gazed around the field in search of the safest route to Achilles. Cautiously, Patroclus moved to get to him. His path was littered with carnage. There was danger in his steps. A cannon blasted. He jerked his head in the direction of the explosion and ducked. He bobbed up and, keeping low, ran towards- 

    A horse flew into his path. Patroclus jerked back. Achilles was so close, Patroclus could see the green of his eyes. He was maybe fifty feet away. Patroclus opened his mouth to call to him. But he was silenced by the feeling of hands snaking around his waist. Panic seized him. A small blade was pressed under his rib. He quickly grabbed his assailant's wrist, using all of his strength to keep the blade away. He pushed and wiggled to get out from the man's grasp. 

     Across from him, Achilles was placing his foot on his victim's chest, trying to free his sabor. The man squirmed as the blade freed itself from his body. Braced and ready, Achilles lifted his sabor, ready for his next fight. 

     His sabor fell from his hand when he saw Patroclus. Patroclus saw Achilles' eyes widen and his breath quicken. Patroclus pushed harder to get away from the arms that held him. Achilles' eyes didn't leave him as he began to run. 

     If Patroclus hadn't wanted Achilles to reach him so badly, he might have thought to yell at Achilles to stop. If Patroclus wasn't so helpless, he might have tried to tell Achilles that the battlefield was the one place he had to be aware of his surroundings. If Achilles wasn't so worried about getting to Patroclus, he might have remembered Menelaus' warning not to be a hero. But Achilles was a hero. And he wasn't thinking. Neither was Patroclus. 

     Achilles pulled out his pistol, taking aim. He didn't see the bayonet, but Patroclus did. Patroclus paled, staring wide-eyed at Achilles as the bayonet found it's way into his abdomen. Achilles jaw dropped. His chest heaved as the bayonet was pulled from his body. His assailant didn't linger, but ran as soon as his blade was out. Achilles held Patroclus' terrified gaze. He attempted to get to him, but fell to his knees. 

      "Nooooooooo," Patroclus screamed. With unbelievable strength he untangled himself from the arms of his captor and ran for Achilles. Nothing existed as Patroclus ran. Sound was vacuumed away, fear nonexistent. It was only by some miracle that he didn't get shot. 

     He fell to his knees beside Achilles. Achilles was hunched over, his breaths shallow and his eyes half closed. 

    "Achilles, Achilles," Patroclus urged tapping his face. "Stay awake." Achilles cried out as Patroclus reached under his arms to drag him off the field. Patroclus's eyes darted across  the field. There had to be some haven from the carnage. 

     "Ahhhh," Achilles groaned, when Patroclus dropped him behind a large oak tree.

     "It's okay, I got this," Patroclus assured, frantically pulling himself out of his jacket. He pressed the coat against Achilles’ wound. The red material darkened. 

     "Patroclus," Achilles wince.

     "No, don't speak," Patroclus instructed. Achilles was shaking underneath Patroclus' trembling hands. "You'll be fine." Patroclus voice hitched. He pressed down harder. 

     "Ahhh! It hurts," Achilles cried, shuddering under Patroclus' touch. 

     "I know, I know, but you need to stay with me," Patroclus begged. "If we can stop the bleeding you'll be fine. You're going to be fine. I swear, you'll be fine." 

     "Mmm, Patroclus," Achilles groaned. 

     "No! I can do this. There's so much... but I can... you're going to be fine. You have to be." 

     "Patroclus," he choked out grabbing Patroclus' wrist. "Please." Patroclus' wet eyes met Achilles' helpless, searching gaze. "I'm so scared."

Patroclus bit into his lip so hard it bled. He didn't want to cry in front of Achilles, he needed to be strong. Achilles needed him. 

      "Nooo, don't be scared," I cooed, in a hoarse voice. He lifted one hand to cup Achilles' cheek. "Come here," he muttered holding Achilles' head on his lap. Achilles breaths were growing shallower and more desperate.  Patroclus lifted his other hand from Achilles' stomach. It was red with blood. He swallowed hard. There would be no coming back from this.  His chin quivered. "It's okay," he lied, stroking Achilles tangled mat of golden hair. Achilles gripped Patroclus' shirt. 

      "It's not," he cried. "I... don't want... to leave you." Patroclus felt the tears he had tried so hard to hold back spill from his eyes like a dame bursting free. 

     All his life Achilles had been like the sun, gold and bright, on a level all on his own.  Achilles was his guiding star, his strength. Patroclus could always let go because he knew Achilles never would, Achilles would keep him from drifting. He was the world in which Patroclus orbited. But now he suffered.  _ And it's because of me,  _ Patroclus thought. He turned my head to the sky and cursed the gods and all the universe. It wasn't fair. 

     "Patroclus-"

     "Shh shh shh," Patroclus comforted, cradling Achilles head closer to him. "It's okay. Just close your eyes and go to the forever that I promised you. I'll be there when you wake up."

     "Do you promise?" Achilles asked. Patroclus nodded, mouth unable to form words. He bent down and pressed his cheek onto Achilles'. Achilles' face was wet with blood and tears and sweat. His light grew dimmer with every breath. Patroclus could feel his warmth fading as he shivered. Patroclus held him tighter, until he layed still. Then he was the one left shaking, tears thundering from his eyes. He let out the piercing shriek of a torn heart while holding the shell of a god. The gods would forgive him for showing such weakness. He did lose half of his soul after all. 


	20. Epilogue

The hall was long and crowded. Patroclus stood passively watching Agamemnon receive a medal of valor. The crowd applauded in delight. How brave the commander was. Saving his troops from such an impossible battle. He led them in, and just in time pulled them out. He made heroes out of those boys. The noble six hundred, as they were called.  
Patroclus snorted. He turned and left the hall and the blind patriotism behind. Heros? Do heroes retreat? Maybe. But Patroclus didn't feel like a hero. He didn't feel like anything. He shoved his fists into his tweed jacket and stared at his feet as he walked, kicking up dust on the dirty British streets.   
Heroes? Legends? Fate? What did they matter? He remembered asking Achilles about fate. Do believe? he had asked. Aren't I supposed to? Achilles smiled. Without it we were just stumbling in the dark, trying not to bump into each other.   
"Watch where you're going?" a man said, dodging Patroclus.   
"Sorry," Patroclus mumbled not looking up.  
"Filthy bum," the man muttered.   
Patroclus ignored him. The scuffs on the ends of his shoes had all of his attention. He moved through the winding streets until he reached a dank, empty alleyway. He pressed his back against the alley wall and slid down to sit on the dirty ground. He let out a heavy sigh. He picked up a purple flower that grew beside him, sliding the stem between his thumb and forefinger. The head popped off. The flower fell from his hand. Patroclus rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, ready to embrace the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with my fic. I really appreciate it. Also, I'm really sorry because this one was a real downer. I'd love to talk about my boys anytime or hear feedback on my writing, please leave a comment of follow me on tumblr here: http://homer-is-my-homie.tumblr.com/


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